HP: The Good Side of Black
by bearblue
Summary: Harry and Ron are whisked away before they can rescue Hermione and torture does not even begin to describe what happens next. Bellatrix has a Brilliant Plan of sorts, when Harry and Ron are rescued, but Hermione is not. She forces Hermione to drink a polyjuice potion. Transformed into Sirius, she is delivered to Narcissa, for the purposes of creating a true Black Heir.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: HP: The Good Side of Black**

Pairing: Hermoine / Narcissa  
Rating: M, NC17, NSFW  
Summary: Harry and Ron are whisked away before they can rescue Hermione and torture does not even begin to describe what happens next. Bellatrix has a Brilliant Plan of sorts, when Harry and Ron are rescued, but Hermione is not. She forces Hermione to drink a polyjuice potion.

Transformed into Sirius, she is delivered to Narcissa, for the purposes of creating a true Black Heir.

Words: This Work is **BETA and UNFINISHED**

Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction, which pretty well guarantees that " ownership, " of some of the characters belongs to others (J.K. Rowling and company) and that this work is entirely based on affection. This is not-for-profit, but for praise or at least enjoyment.

Beta Readers: Thank yous go to - Melanacious, LadyDragonstorm, Bonnie, shesgottaread, and Blackgrl71 - my extraordinary friends.

A/N - This is a "get 'em together" story/ One Shot.  
A/N - This fiction likely draws from several sources for inspiration - it mostly follows Harry Potter movie canon as a starting point, however.  
A/N - I hereby label this story AU. While it starts from the movie core, with a dash of book core, and even some youtube fanvid influence, meanwhile, it is set in a reality that is both magical and dangerous and altered by events within the story. ***stamp* AU *endstamp***  
A/N - This story involves appendages and physical transformations and happy bits connecting. If phallai offend, perhaps this story is not for you. Also, apparently, this is not a "usual" pairing. Thus: ***stamp* CRACKFIC *endstamp***  
A/N -This story will possibly be darker than I normally go. It involves depictions or at least discussions of torture and other difficult experiences; there's always the hint of "danger" and stories get told and maybe a little blood and sex and giant hints of noncon and who knows what will trigger some people so** *stamp* AltSEX *endstamp***  
A/N - This story has serious, definite hints of "bad things that happened to good people." This includes violence shading toward noncon ***stamp* TRIGGER Warning *endstamp***  
A/N - Polyamory? Well, I don't know how this really will play as Poly, per se. However, I'm gonna put the warning in anyhow. Just in case. ***stamp* POLY *endstamp***  
A/N - This story uses a mystical and magical happenings of the dangerous kind setting, which means that some events are darker and more dangerous and possibly unfriendly. ***stamp* MAYHEM! *endstamp***  
A/N - This story has big dollops of angst and maybe horror, but it ends well.

LJ Tags: all: fiction, user: bearblue, rating: nc-17, pairing: hermione/narcissa, status: incomplete, genre: romance

Outline-ish thing:

(Note: Hermione is / should be older than Harry and Ron - she has been using the time turner to do extra classes since third year: So -

1st year, she's 11 - 12

2nd year, she's 12 - 13

3rd year, she's 13 - 14:30 (but the birthday is set at 14)

4th year she's 14:30 - 16 (but the birthday is set 15)

5th year she's 16 - 17:30 (but the birthday is set at 16)

6th year she's 17:30 - 19 (but the birthday is set at 17)

7th year she's at 19 (but the birthday is set at 18)

By the time she is captured, she's probably physically around 20, but her birthday reflects 18. She's always been mentally ahead, but has been set back some emotionally by the negativity of the locket.)

- HP -

The subject of the Black inheritance came up again just a few short hours after Potter and the Weasley's escape. Not even quite twenty four hours after, but as the hysteria of their escape was finally vented and Bella had at last moved on, the brighter sister of the two was not prepared to complain. She brought up the topic over the course of days, at breakfast, tea and dinner or when she happened to catch her in the parlor. Not that Narcissa really wanted to talk about it, but as Bella would not shut up about "vermin in the house," when referring to their childhood home, she had no choice, but to listen as her sister ranted, raved. Plotted.

The solution, of course, was essentially easy, as to relieve Potter of that particular inheritance all they had to do was have an heir whose blood proved true. The actual practicalities, however, were a steeper hurdle.

They had discussed the issue previously. Andromeda was out of the question at this point. Technically she had been disinherited, but both women were aware that she had received shares from their mother's side of the family anyhow; even in separation, there had been generosity. Such was their family devotion.

Devotion, however, only carried so far. Narcissa was adamant that she would not touch any other man in such a way save, Lucius. She already had a son through their union. They had managed to escape prison, but not each other, and while Lucius had proved to be a good father, he was less of a husband. Narcissa did not miss that part much anyhow and appearance of caring had much to do with habit and the proper display of formalities. No one expected more than that. Also, as annoyed as she might be with him about his involvement of that tribe of madmen, the Death Eaters, she understood his loyalty to a concept. After all, she had been raised with the belief in the purity of their bloodlines. It was a thread they both held in common, if not in depth.

So, the sisters talked about the need for an heir again, or rather, Bella did most of the talking and Narcissa listened. She was confident that eventually her brunette sister would either tire of the subject, take her wrath out on some poor idiot who got in her way, or she would drop the idea. Narcissa believed the latter to be a more likely scenario, for, as soon as the Dark Lord would summon, Bella would go and that conversation would be over.

At least for a little while. It did, after all, sometimes come back up again.

And now, as at such times, Narcissa listened to another scattered plot concocted by her brilliant, but insane sister.

"In theory, it should work." Bella shrugged.

Narcissa gave the delirious woman a disbelieving jaw-dropped stare. But at the same time, after thinking about it, she really couldn't disagree that the theory might hold, but the practicality was severely lacking and the idea was a touch... incestuous. "But it's just as likely that the bloodline that are passed on will be that other person's. This is..." She did not finish with the obvious end. Bellatrix did not appreciate that particular word or its relatives; especially when said to her by family. The dark woman might love her as a sister, and wouldn't kill her, but she was still capable of waving a wand full of hurt if she was angry.

"No!" Bellatrix all but screamed. Then she immediately calmed. "That's not how it works. Our … donor... would embody Sirius, therefore will breed as Sirius. He is... was... our nearest male relative and the bloodline would be supported thus. But either way, we will have an heir that isn't named Potter." Bellatrix spat the name out with venom. "It will have to be you as I can't very well do it. I'm infertile. You, my dear Cissy are our only hope."

"I am a married woman!"

"As if that mattered when it comes to such things. Certainly the building of a bloodline in the past has often crossed the marriage lines. We wouldn't be the first. And Lucius has technically done his part; for his bloodline, but what about ours? The name Black must continue. We would simply make it a clause in the future marriage contract, should the heir be a girl. And I know your fussiness about other men. I would hate for you to feel uncomfortable," which wasn't quite an outright lie, as Narcissa had plenty of memories of discomfort as something inflicted by her sister. Bella continued, oblivious to her sister's scoff. "This is what makes the notion in my head so perfect." Bella said, unaware of the mad glint in her eyes, "We will use a woman. Well, a girl, anyhow." Bella tapped her chin. "Besides, my dear, you've always wanted to make Granger suffer for what she did to my dear nephew."

Bella ignored the way the Narcissa rose so quickly in shock, the way the chair tumbled from her outrage. "Yes," she said, "This will do. We will gain an heir and she will suffer for the crime of being what she is and at least her time with us will be useful." That last part was spat out, as the Granger had been astonishingly resistant and non-compliant, even under the direst of circumstance. It made her a fascinating toy, but not profitable in the long run, save as a misery of conscience for Potter.

Narcissa tried to come up with a way to stop the madness from touching her skirts. So far, she had managed to avoid any outright involvement, except too often as witness and save for a very few circumstances; each moment, almost always remembered, except for the Imperioused ones and each carried their own regret and sometimes exultation. Narcissa was not oblivious to her own joy when something bad happened to people she loathed. She simply hid it better than most. She spoke sharply, angrily, biting out the words. "But she is a mudblood. Lucius will be intolerable..." Among other things.

"I will handle Lucius. He is in jail now, but will soon be much too busy to complain anyhow," Bella's blue eyes flicked to the stammering Narcissa and her expression promised dire things for her sister's husband should he fail to cooperate. As for their son, Draco, he would not care what happened to Granger. He had tortured the girl with his taunts for years. The only reason he had not participated in her more recent "life experiences," had been that he was back at school, finishing his term under the guidance of his Godfather.

Narcissa's jaw clenched, her expression finally firming into that famous icy exterior; one which she dropped for only a few rare persons. Her sister included. "Fine, but if we do this, the Granger girl is mine to do with as I please. She bends, breaks, lives or dies at my hand alone. I simply can not have her distracted by..." She waved a hand nonchalantly at Bella, "...what you and your friends do to your prisoners. If I am to catch, I need her alive and at least healthy enough to stand the transformations." The darker sister began to grin, wickedness in her eyes. Narcissa, now that she was committed, began to plan, "This could take months. Do we even have enough substance to support such a long term project..."

"We had plans for infiltration into the Order. However, that fell through when Sirius, ha, fell through death's doorway. I'm sure we have enough, and if not, it can be stretched. You'll think of a way, I know you will. Oh, and think of her as my gift to you. Yours to keep. Or kill."

Narcissa nodded slowly, and considered. "I realize now I must make another demand. You must not destroy our closer relatives, Bella. Too few of us as it is. Andromeda and her daughter, off limits. Whatever we may think of them, they still carry the blood and it may someday prove true again."

"Well, I can't be everywhere."

"I don't expect you to be. But as you point out, we must protect the line. Our tree must grow again, not falter. If we do this, we do it my way." Because, technically, of the sisters, they all knew whose scores had been highest. Just because she never offered a plan to the Dark Lord did not mean she did not know how to concoct them.

Bella's pacing stopped and she cocked her head at her sister, before nodding. "Agreed."

- HP -

Once decided, once everything was haggled and deliberated, both women set about putting their plans into motion. Narcissa moved out of the rooms across from Lucius'. She might not share his bed, but, unlike he with his affairs, she was not willing to rub his nose in the fact that she was about to do this thing. Fortunately, the manor held plenty of empty suites, even when they had guests. She claimed one, set about having the house elves arrange everything to her satisfaction and prepared for the need to do something she hadn't in a long time; share a living space with someone else.

Bella, in the meantime, set about "fixing," what she had broken, at least enough to ensure that Hermione could transform as demanded. The daily interrogations stopped. The beatings stopped. The more obvious broken and torn bits were healed; with moderate success. Edible food and water was delivered in a timely way. She could do nothing about nightmares except have the girl forced to sleep, at least five hours. The floor of the dungeon was no bed, but a spelled sleep was better than none; even with the screams of dreamed Crucios breaking through the cracks.

As no one in Bella's company had a desire for trouble, the Granger girl had been relatively otherwise untouched. Teased with the danger of it, perhaps, but as she was Bella's prisoner and Voldemort's favorite minion was very possessive of her torture victims until she was completely done with them, she was mostly left alone, so, no one dabbled too heavily. The girl may have been groped, but she had not been fondled or taken or bitten by Weres. Bella would have known and punished, which took away certain worries, because for this to work, "Sirius," could not be pregnant or a shifter. It would have mucked up the whole works.

What did give Bella a certain glee was watching how the Granger girl tried to quietly figure out the plot. After all, it had all the appearance hope, but at the same time, the girl could not dare to question why. Not that she would have anyway, she had become a silent thing, as mousy in her verbiage as her matted and dull brown hair. The only noise she ever made any more was the occasional whimper and those so musical screams.

Bella would miss those, but she suspected the screams might not be completely over. After all, Narcissa hated the Granger girl. From a certain perspective, more than Bella ever did. For the darkest sister, Granger was a job and a pleasure. For Narcissa... Bella felt a shiver of pleasurable dread roll through her shoulders in memory of one particular time when Cissy had reminded Bella that she was not the only one who knew how to hurt with a wand. Cissy had always been very protective of things that were hers.

As Bellatrix considered things, perhaps she did feel a little sorry for the Granger creature.

- HP -

"I'm not doing this while you hang around, even if you are my sister. You have delivered this," the blonde waved at the shaking figure in the middle of the room, "...thing to me. Now, go away Bella."

"I can make you." The threat was softly, deliberately delivered; a reminder. Unlike Lucius, Narcissa had been telling the truth of being Imperioused. Not that, in the long run, the truth had mattered to those who judged such things.

"Yes, but then I'd forget it, and what would be the fun in that?" Narcissa delivered her rejoinder in an even, disinterested tone. Then she turned her gaze to her sister. "You did promise not to interfere, that this... Granger." She let her tongue slide the word maliciously and despite herself, enjoyed the flinch that she caught out of the corner of her eyes. After all, Bella had been right, there was a score to settle with this girl who had dared lay hands upon her son. "... is mine."

Bella smile was almost sisterly, "Oh. You do have a point. I suppose I did." She turned her gaze to prisoner and the smile turned vicious. "I don't suppose you'd let me have one for the road."

For a few moments, it seemed as if Narcissa actually contemplated the idea. "No, you have had your fun. Go find something else to play with."

Bella mock huffed. "Fine." The she grinned before striding to the door. "Don't do anything I wouldn't... Oh wait, do do it. After all, it's important!"

"Go, Bella." Narcissa waved her fingers at her sister dismissively and the darker sister exited the room with a terrible laugh of triumph.

- HP -

It had been a deliberate choice on Narcissa's part to allow only one seat in the sitting room of the suite at this time. The other furniture and comforts were set aside for later. This put the being in front of her at center stage, but herself at the seat of power, which was how it needed to be.

What she had not anticipated was her own viscerally painful reaction to finally having the moment, which should have been sweeter, but had been tainted by what she already knew had happened to the girl. Suddenly the need to avenge her son for a bloody nose was ashes in her mouth. If punishment was needed, it had been given thrice over. She already knew this. The girl's screams had been bone deep. Every time. The blonde had only escaped them by putting a silencing spell in her rooms.

Narcissa let her eyes glide over the naked figure before her, trying to remember the real height, the real coloration of the girl. The male in front of her was well formed, shoulders wide enough to please, hips slim enough to be proportional. His hands covered his lower parts protectively, but she had seen them before. Once, long ago. She knew they were of good proportion too. He had the color of the majority of the Blacks, pale, perfect skin, dark hair with a touch of curl, eyes that glinted blue. If she recalled correctly the girl's hair was bushy and brown, her eyes were chestnut, her skin fair.

Even as hale as the being appeared upon first glance, they still shook like a leaf blown by high wind. Any moment threatened collapse. The Granger had yet to speak, but that was also no surprise. Narcissa already knew what her screams sounded like.

There would be more. Such was necessity.

But whatever might be said of Narcissa, she was not unnecessarily cruel. She had no need to be.

"Just," Narcissa grimaced, breaking that icy expression hers for the first time, "Sit down." She watched as the trembling Sirius, no the girl, glanced desperately around the room, hands still crossed in front of her lower extremity. Narcissa allowed a shallow exhale to escape, as she realized the dilemma. The girl might be bright, but she had been pushed to the edges and might not be altogether... there. Narcissa said, almost gently, "I see a floor."

She watched as the legs folded under, as if dragged by gravity and Sirius, the girl, sat cross-legged upon the cold marble. Narcissa pondered the choice, as there was a rug, but a few inches away. She realized then that the girl remained conscious of her surroundings, had made that choice deliberately. Then she considered what she was actually seeing, and smelling. And considered the why and realized it had been an oddly thoughtful gesture. Narcissa wondered if it was because of herself, or the beauty of the carpet.

Whatever the case, she had come from the dungeon. Bella may have delivered Granger, but she had not made any effort to change Sirius, the girl's, circumstances, perhaps believing that Narcissa would have the same joy in dealing with a smelly, decrepit body of a victim as she.

Not for the first time, since even agreeing to this madness, Narcissa wondered what scars and wounds festered upon the girl. She winced, internally, but never let the thought reflect in her gaze. She had far too much practice to allow mercy to color her expression unless she willed it. Rescue, of course, had been out of the question. She lived in a house full of Death Eaters. The one opportunity for escape had passed and the boys had left the girl behind, no doubt justifying it as "had to." A part of her, the more genteel womanly aspect, raged at that fact and she hated Potter and Weasley with a much more deeply complete loathing. Cissy had managed to send meals, but whether they made it to the girl intact was in question.

And now here the girl was, Cissy's responsibility, claim and task. For the first time, Narcissa wondered if she'd taken on more than was possible.

To business. Like Bella, Cissy wasn't one to dance around topics, but there were many to address. "Hermione Granger, you struck my son." The girl's head did not lift, but she did shift, looking even further away. The floor seemed very important to her-slash-him at the moment. "You may imagine that I found this most displeasing to discover. I had plans to ruin you."

Was that a laugh? It was so diminutive, hardly observable. A chuff of a breath. But Narcissa felt a strange releasing in her chest. The girl's spirit was not completely gone. Shattered, yes, but not completely shriven.

"Plans, however, are often subject to change. Especially at points of necessity." Cissy, legs crossed and body languid, tapped her wand in her hand. "I require you to look at me now, Granger. Eyes forward." The snap in her voice, well practiced as a mother, was enough to startle the girl into compliance. She-he stared at Cissy with a frightened gaze. "I say necessity and I mean it. It is important for you to hear this, whether you agree, or understand or not. Did my sister bother to explain why she was administering the polyjuice?"

Granger remained silent, non-conversant, and Cissy resigned herself to the possibility that the whole of the conversation might be one-sided. Then she made the mistake of sniffing in disdain.

Really. The smell. How did Bella begin to stand it. Or maybe she didn't. It would be like her to do this on purpose. Cissy aimed her wand. "Scourgify!"

It hadn't been her intention to make the girl scream, as the spell was technically harmless. The sound was masculine, but she recognized the scale and it startled the lady of the house enough that she found herself on her feet. Hermione-slash-Sirius writhed and collapsed as the bubbling magical cleanser chased and eliminated the grime and dirt and smell from every surface, seen and unseen on the girl. She was left pristine, but fetal prone, curled upon her side.

Despite herself Cissy rushed forward, the need to dominate and control circumstances decimated. She knelt then, hands at first hesitant, and then she grasped the girl, ignoring the second shout of agony, as if the mere laying on of hands was torture alone. She drew her-slash-him, partially into her lap and slightly up. Sirius, the girl, was too big to draw in completely, but as her arms wrapped around the waist, the girl leaned. Tears rolled silently, as soundless sobs wracked, and Cissy felt the collar of her gown, her neck, grow wet.

Narcissa felt a shift within, inexplicable and deep. And she finished what needed saying, but it was transformed, "You're mine now, Hermione Granger," she whispered, though her tone was firm. "I always keep what is mine. I always protect what is mine. I always hold what is mine." She was reminded of what she had already said, plans change, and her mind was already skipping past to the parts that were important. "I will bind you in blood and substance, girl, so you know to whom you belong. It will pain you at first," the girl shuddered in her arms. "... but you already know pain. You already deal in pain. It's no more than what you already know. You will become strong, because you're mine. You will face what must be faced, because you are mine. You will do what must be done, because. You. Are. Mine. Hermione Granger."

Sirius, the girl, looked up at her then, eyes dark. She said nothing, but then she shuddered again and again. Cissy watched in silence as Sirius' body shook itself away and gone, leaving only a frail girl in her arms. Brown eyes, gone the color of dark chocolate gazed back up at her now, glimmered with tears that had suddenly stopped, as if a floodgate had been closed.

Cissy relaxed, drawing back enough to scan the girl's body. She half expected Hermione to attempt to cover herself, but she was aware that the girl was watching her with a near analytical patience. Cissy's perusal was quick, efficient, spiritually bruising. She kept her voice even, avoided hissing in anger. "I can not yet summon a healer, not until certain matters are seen to; yet you are too weak for the ceremony. Bella is much better at hatchet jobs than healing."

Again there was that soft chuff of a laugh. Cissy looked back at Hermione's face. Wounds slowly transforming to scars ran along one side, still red and vibrant, where fingernails like claws had scraped down from forehead to chin. She was still lovely, even so. Still so very young.

"Do you want me to take you to rest, or to tell you why you are here?"

Hermione stared at her, as if puzzled that she should even be asked; after all it had been so long since she'd answered a single question thrown at her. Cissy waited, willing to make the choice if necessary, but also needing, this once, to give the girl a chance to respond. She needed to know if she could answer, if the ability was still there at all.

Hermione's voice was gravelly, her reply ponderous. "Tell me." Polite. "Please."

Cissy nodded, once, then said, without even attempting to modify the blow, "You are intended to assist me by siring the Black heir."

For the third time since her arrival, Hermione laughed. This time, however, the sound was more than a brief burst of air, but a harsh, torn thing, still short, but it was true merriment of disbelief. "That's..." she was about to say crazy, about to say impossible, about to say any number of things, but Narcissa watched as Hermione's expression changed as her mind immediately began to tackle the idea for the notion itself. By the time she was done laughing, her expression was wide eyed and serious. She shifted in the blonde's grip and extended an arm, the one that had been cruelly cut by Bellatrix. She pointed with great deliberation at the word, a name of lower caste, all blocked in uppercase letters. MUDBLOOD. "I would think this would be a problem."

As part of her preparation and because she'd felt the need after agreeing to make the attempt, Narcissa had perused the family documents, seeking for any way out of this bizarre circumstances that she'd been thrust into by her sister's machinations. As she read, however, the more she began to understand; the bloodline was not all there was to the idea of purity. And in order to remain strong, the entire family line had to be managed carefully, and now and then, for strength and to prosper the line, one had to add in a fresh line or face dying out. As they had been.

As they were.

Narcissa realized first, that it had been a very long time since the bloodline had been truly managed as it ought to have been. She also discovered that this was not the first time that the family tree had been torn near the root. That had come as a surprise, among other things; including specific solutions offered. And the Blacks, or rather what was left of them, was at the crossroads of extermination unless some of those solutions were utilized.

The blonde expelled a breath, a pretty sigh, "It has been considered."

"Do you people have any understanding of genetics? Science? I'd point out how stupid a certain Dark Lord is, but...," and indeed, the scorn that Hermione was practically famous for in Narcissa's house finally made an appearance, and then was waved off by the girl herself, "... that's not the topic. The topic is supposedly that we, you and I, cast in the body of Sirius, would … I can't even say it." Hermione's tone was only a touch outraged, "and I've used polyjuice before. Yes, the outward appearance is changed, sometimes the voice, if the juice is very good, but every effect? Mrs. Malfoy, there is bound to be essence of me in the mix. Something I am sure you don't want."

"Do not presume to tell me what I want," snapped out Narcissa. She continued, just as sharply. "The problems of the transformation have been considered, and means and ways determined..." The older woman gazed down fiercely at the younger. "And you have no idea what we know or do not know of genetics, girl. The bloodlines have been around for ages. You have no idea how long our kind have existed, what sciences and magics we've seen come and go. Do not presume to think us ignorant, when you began with nothing."

Hermione was taken aback at the other woman's fierce tone. "I... I...," she cleared her raw throat, "I apologize, Mrs. Malfoy."

Narcissa rolled her eyes slightly. "In here, I am not Mrs. Malfoy. I am Narcissa or Cissy. If we are to be intimate, you might as well get used to saying my name."

Hermione blinked, unable to find a reply. She finally slumped, suddenly tired again.

"Perhaps I should have waited," the older woman said, and she drew the girl in again, began lifting her; far too easily.

"No," Hermione whispered. "It's better to know. But I don't see how. I just... I can't see this..."

"You will." Narcissa stood then, surprisingly strong. "I already know that we can not rely on the adequacy of the polyjuice. There are, however, other means..."

"There are?"

Narcissa was oddly gratified that Hermione was still curious, still interested in life to even ask the question. Or perhaps, she merely trusted what she had been told.

"Yes. I mentioned pain, did I not."

"Yes..."

"You may expect it tomorrow. In the morning, after you have slept. I don't think we can wait as long as we should. I will call the elves tonight. They have healing magic we might call upon this one time and you won't care, will you, that an elf has touched you thus."

"They are sentient beings. And you already think I'm made from dirt. No. I don't care."

"I do not think you are made from dirt," Cissy said as she laid the girl on the bed. Their bed, though she knew Hermione did not know this yet.

"Why do I find that hard to believe?"

"Because you know what I have said for years and years. Why should anyone change, myself in particular?" Hermione found herself caught in a severe azure gaze and found herself turning from the quiet fury in them.

"I see."

"Not yet. But you will." Narissa lifted a coverlet, placed it over the young girl. "Wait here, Hermione. I shall return. If you need to use the facilities, they are yours, but you can not leave this suite on your own."

"Still a prisoner."

"Yes. Mine."

Hermione closed her eyes, gulped and nodded. "You protect what is yours."

"Always."

"I don't think I could try to run away anyhow."

"No. I suspect not."

- HP -

Next


	2. Chapter 2

HP: The Good Side of Black pt. 2

Elf magic always was a little different. Under normal circumstances, their magic was experienced globally, like a universal field. The more elves to the house, the more powerful the house and the field around the house. The longer the elves stayed, the more magical the house became, as energy was saturated into the very grain of its stone and wood or whatever else of which it might be composed. And then, in some ways, eventually, the house began performing its own miracles; much like Hogwarts.

One could not guess what an elf might do to accomplish a task. One did not ask and there were contracts drawn from ages past that held to the point that their way would not be interfered with and they would always have a home and refuge so long as they served. An elf would deal with the harshest master, demands for speed being permissible, so long as that master never questioned the process.

Narcissa summoned the elf in charge of all the elves of her manor. Ginda was nothing like the ever miserable Dobby, who chafed at being Lucius' elf. Not that she blamed the creature, but still, Dobby's betrayal of his contract was a dangerous precedent. Fortunately, it wasn't terribly public, and thus they were saved from certain social awkwardness. Ginda had no such issues, having been with Cissy from the start, and, much like her human family there was a certain ambition that had taken the elf from newcomer to head in a very short period of time. The mistress of the house was never quite sure how many elves actually worked and lived in the manor, but with Ginda at the helm they were always an efficient bunch. She was gratified at the usual promptness.

"Mistress calls."

"I have need."

"As Mistress wishes."

"The girl in my room is mine and meant to be mine. She is to be healed."

"Forgive this humble elf, is she to be one of the household then?"

Narcissa's gaze seemed to travel outward and then back before she returned it to the creature before her. "Yes. She is."

"This elf must see this girl."

"As you wish, Ginda." Narcissa turned and led the elf into the bedroom, where Hermione, lay, now unconscious. She watched as the elf moved close and then closer still, observing with an inscrutable intention, before returning to Narcissa's side. The elf waved its hand in a rare gesture of command and they both left the room again.

"More to know, was it heard correctly that this one is to be a sire?"

Narcissa drew in a sharp breath and then grimaced. Of course they knew the plan. They were elves. She said, "I can not afford to limit potential, but there is a plan for at least one child, yes. She is to be a Black."

The elf nodded, satisfied, picking up immediately upon the second meaning; or perhaps foretelling it. One never knew. Narcissa, however, could see her elf grasping the plot immediately. "You plan old magics. A bonding and blooding?"

"I... yes. Tomorrow morning."

"We will assist you. Elves will prepare a room for the purpose and connect it to this suite, so you will not draw attention too soon. Though you can not hide this for long. This girl is worthy. Young and very strong. Very strong. Her magic is pure, potent and fresh. Her mind is bright. She will be very good for your bloodline, for you. We have seen your studies. It is good. Would the others were as wise as you to see the potential. Their loss. Your gain."

Narcissa was startled by the declaration, one might even say shocked at what it revealed, but she forced her tongue to stillness. The elf pointed at a candle which suddenly lit. Then said, "Do not go into the room for half a candle mark."

"I will expect a complete job of it." Narcissa said at her haughtiest, but her eyes gave away her worry.

The elf nodded sharply, once, and then disappeared in the way that only a house elf could.

A few moments later, the temptation to enter the room was so powerful that it almost burned as hotly as the fire lighting the candle did. Once more Narcissa was afflicted by the screams of Hermione and then, just as abruptly as they started, they stopped. The blonde woman stared at the candle, willing it faster, but it took its time the way it was designed.

Perhaps it was the flicker of the flame, or the pressure of the magics from the other room, but she found herself closing her eyes, feeling the need to rest.

It seemed only a moment had passed, when she heard the softest, "Mistress. It is time for you to go to bed. Will you let us guide you?"

"Yes."

She hardly remembered standing or even walking. She most definitely did not remember removing her clothes. She had no thought of reclining upon the bed, or of how natural it was to roll over and clasp the body next to hers, so very closely. By the time Hermione was in her arms, Narcissa was as firmly in the healing sleep as the girl.

- HP -

They were awakened by second cock-crow, seven a.m. by another clock, by tiny hands and insistent elf voices. Though awakened did not quite describe their actual aspect, as both women were in a near dreamlike state as they were summoned from the comfort of the bed, to uprightness. They were aware enough to feel magic rush around them, through them, as bodily needs, this once, were seen to in magical ways. They grew more alert as they were walked, with small hands pushing and pulling, through the bedroom door, past the suite parlor and through an empty room that was designated to be the suite library, whenever Narcissa got around to insisting the furniture be returned.

They watched together, unspeaking, not quite awake enough to look at each other and actually grasp what was happening, and both terribly puzzled, as a bookcase abruptly shifted to the side revealing an arched passageway. Then the hands and insistent voices were pushing again.

The passageway was long and dark and went down and down, but the women, with the hands guiding them, now pulling, then pushing, felt no fear; just trepidation. The floor was smooth all the way down, with no cracks or crevices to cause a stumble and there came a point where the light behind them faded entirely and it was completely dark. Then a few steps later light arose from the other side, growing brighter as they approached. It was an obvious arch, the companion to the one behind them.

They stepped through, or were pushed through, or were guided through, together; entering the vast space at one time and still being led and prodded forward. They had little time to look around as they were led even further down until they neared a great circular arena. But they saw enough to realize they were surrounded by elves, hundreds of them. Far more than could be contained by one great manor or even two. Before them, was an altar made of heavy stone and waist high, which stood on a dais in the middle of the arena. The altar was encircled and encoded with runes so old that they were uninterpretable and so powerful that light throbbed from them and they seemed constantly to move. Upon the altar were objects. On one side a cup and knife, on the other their pair. In the center, a massive tome, bigger than a suitcase, with its pages spread.

For the first time since entering the cavernous space, the women were pushed away from one another rather than to each other. Their resistance was an unconscious, nervous response to the change, but they were still managed until they found themselves on opposite sides of the altar.

A chant, a beat, rose up around them, at first softly, then gathering momentum. Narcissa and Hermione looked first at each other and then around themselves and took in the numbers, their surrounding. "What is this place?"

It could have been either of them saying it. It was both.

The chant was becoming a storm, throbbing against their skin, their ears. It even made the light waver. It continued heavy, swamping out the sound of their breathing, their heartbeats, until there was a chime, which struck through the noise like lightning. The chant stopped, or rather paused, hanging in the air like an expectant storm.

The head elf, the one who had come to Narcissa's call the night before suddenly appeared. It carried an ancient-appearing bottle, unstoppered. Smoke or steam wisped out of it. The scent was sweet and bitter at the same time. Beside them, four other elves also appeared, burly for their size, and their arms and hands were grasped, grappled and held.

"This is a sacred space," the head elf boomed, "Here the old things are remembered. Here the old traditions carry on. Here, magic is called and renewed, bonds and ties are made to never be broken. Here we gather as witness to this old and new ceremony."

The head elf's words settled in the air, heavy and waiting. Then the attention turned to the women at the altar. "Hermione Jean Granger are you hers?"

The young woman blinked at the elf for a moment, her expression one of struggle and confusion. And then she looked back at the blonde, who stood as bare as she was, and regal and dangerous. She stared into an azure gaze, seekingly, "She has laid claim to me. She calls me hers." Hermione shivered, as memory was still fresh, though the wounds had been healed. Scars remained though, and she looked down at her arm, which still held the word of scorn upon it. Then she looked up, her expression evening out. "Yes," she finally said. "I am hers."

"Narcissa Black, who is also Malfoy, are you hers?"

The blonde looked startled, obviously surprised by the form of the question, which deconstructed and reconstructed her plans at a near molecular level. After all, she had known such a spell would have to be reciprocal. She'd simply thought she'd be in charge. She wasn't entirely sure how it had all gone so wonky. Yet...

Yet...

The taller of the two women stared hard at the girl, her expression severe as she wrestled with the implications, knowing that the only time to back out was now, for they had been warned and she could feel the throb of power from the altar and the elves and whatever this was, it felt like destiny. It also felt like she would drown in those brown eyes forever. Her reply came out much more humbly than her body language ever managed. "Yes."

"So it will be!"

The chant took up again, and then, running counter or rather in alternative time, the head elf also began to chant and to walk around them, once, twice, thrice. The sound covered them like a heavy cloak, as on the third turn, the head elf poured dark, viscous liquid, the color of blood, into the cups, filling them to the brim.

Then the four beside them began also to speak, and to move. Their arms were thrust forward, hands lifted and pressed against each others, then pulled back. Three times again.

Then it was the knives and blood, both palms, in quick painful slices, causing both women to cry out in shock. Their hands were dragged over the cups, wrapped around them in smooth succession and then, again, pressed three times palm to palm to each other.

Their mouths opened then, saying words they did not recognize, but could not avoid. The words spilled out like bees, buzzing and sharp. The cups were pressed into their hands again and they felt pins crush into their palms, but the words were moving so fast they forgot to scream, and could only feel. Tears leaked, as their arms looped around each other, almost of their own, though they felt the lift of the elves holding them up, supporting them against the weight of the magic. Their cups lifted, by their own hands, and the liquid, bitter and sweet and coppered poured past their tongues, drained into them. They felt a burst of power, shock through them, wreck their stances and yet they were kept upright to do it again, as the cups were exchanged and drunk, and then once more; each time the shockwave was stronger and more potent and terrifying. They both quaked and shivered and groaned, but they were in the maelstrom now. The elves never ceased their song, their chant, their call of the deep.

The women's palms, still bloody and flowing, were pressed again. This time the words they chanted were screams, wasps in their ears and on their tongues and in their bodies. Three times they did this and then another three, until it seemed like the world, their reality, or just themselves, were folding into nine-parts, in constant motion. And then their hands were slammed upon the pages of the book, by those cruel, burly elves, so hard that the bones and muscle shook. Once. Twice. Thrice. The last time their hands stuck to the page, refusing to be lifted. Their invocations were broken things, desperate cries, unavoidable and shrill. The book claimed them, claimed their blood and their offering, claimed their needs and wants and desperate dreams spoken and unspoken.

Then the pages, where their hands were stuck, burst into light, a terrible brightness, which sundered all darkness and pushed through the women through every pore and molecule, wrapping around them in massive ribbons of power. It was so strong they were lifted off the ground. The pages of the book lifted with them, until the elves, daring, held to them, to keep them from going far and possibly ripping the book. Thunder shook the room, loud and crackling. It boomed over them, through them, caused everyone, including the elves, to cry out.

The head elf shouted spell of finishing and the book thrust them away, closing sharply with a powerful snap. The women landed on their feet, barely, held upright by those doughty, brave elves, staggered by all that had just happened and knowing no words could ever convey the depth that they had seen, experienced and witnessed.

Silence reigned, a sudden blessing and relief, for heartbeats upon heartbeats. And then Hermione and Narcissa were led until they were standing on the same side of the altar, facing one another. They both had cause to gasp, for changes had been wrought, though their features remained their own. Narcissa appeared years younger, while Hermione's hair had gained a paired, and twined, dark and light stripe amongst the wild growth that was her normal aspect. The elder of the two raised her hand, no longer bloody or even scarred, and brushed the strand, awe in her expression.

Hermione stepped closer, also raising her arm, intending and suddenly needing to touch what was hers; daring. She glanced down despite herself, out of the wrenching habit that she'd used to test if she were still alive, and the shock was so thorough she stumbled.

Narcissa caught her Hermione, intending to whisper comfort, but then she too saw the mark. Where once was jagged clunky block letters, carved into skin, there was now a simple elegance, pristine and in a type Narcissa recognized very easily. The word? Black.

"Oh my."

- HP -

Elsewhere, in a farther distance than one might suppose, part of a walled tapestry writhed and glimmered. Beside the name Narcissa, above the name Lucius, a new name grew golden and woven. Hermione.

No one noticed, as no one was there. Not even the curmudgeonly house elf. He was elsewhere.

- HP -

"We must hasten now," the head elf said and the women found themselves turning to face the being. "You must return to your home and quickly. Your bond is still at work and will claim you both soon. It is better to be in your rooms at such times."

Hermione straightened from Narcissa, feeling an odd reluctance to part gather at the pit of her belly. She managed the question. "I don't understand. Please, explain." She was only half aware of her nudity, but practicality kept her from worrying about it. She was more curious about what the elf was trying to explain.

Ginda said, very gently, "You are bonded, Mistress. You are hers and she is yours. Ever after. Your bond will gather and build your longing until it is soothed."

"My longing." It was a whisper.

"Yes, Mistress. Both of you will need. And soon. You must go now, come. Come."

The two women once again felt the press and pull of elven guidance. Their steps, at first moderate, increased in pace, until they were passing through the archway into the darkness and then climbing, up and up. The elves were serious in their haste, and now and then Narcissa or Hermione felt themselves lifted and carried as much as guided, until at last they encountered the deepest dark and then the farthest light.

They had no time to resist and no breath to complain, as every effort was expended to their final arrival. They found themselves almost unceremoniously shoved through the door and the bookcase, still empty, slid across the wall with a definite finality.

They were alone then, except for the head elf and one other.

Hermione's surprised yelp seemed to startle the grumpy other elf into action. It stepped forward, not quite looking at the young woman and with its hands wringing. When it did look up at her, its head was cocked as if it were in an infinite loop of perplexity. Or it feared what the younger woman, of all people, would do.

Hermione, who was not used to speaking much anymore, and understood more intimately the reasons that might cause one to be broken, stared back at him, just as puzzled at his presence. She found, oddly, that after having been surrounded by so many elves, that she was no longer dismayed by his nudity or his preference for it. She understood now that, despite what most wizards thought, the lack of clothing had nothing to do with shame and quite a bit to do with what happens when one is caught up in the deeper magics.

The silence between them was short, but only because the head elf spoke.

"Kreacher has words to say, Mistress."

Hermione glanced at the head elf and then back at the Black House's elf. "You may speak."

"Mistress. This is yours." The reason for the wringing hands was suddenly apparent, as the elf extended a set of keys.

Hermione blinked, not quite grasping the significance. "I don't recognize those keys, Kreacher. I don't recall losing any, but thank you for trying." She had always been polite, though Kreacher had been hostile due to her origins. "Perhaps they are Harry's?"

"No! These are yours!" He shoved the keys in her direction again. "As rightful mate of Narcissa Black, also Malfoy, these belong to you. Mistress Black."

"Rightful..." Hermione felt as if the air in her lungs, what little she had after that remarkable run, escaped and along with it, her sense of balance.

Before she could stagger, before she could reject the keys once more, she felt the press of a body, taller than hers, against her. The sudden support was more than welcome and very needed. Narcissa's arm wrapped around Hermione, "Thank you, Kreacher, for your dutiful service. Is the boy..."

"His inheritance still holds true, but the house is now owned by two. Mistress Black has right of travel and refuge, to call upon Kreacher at any time." He still held the keys out, waiting patiently and with an odd serenity to his features.

"But, you hate me."

"I did." Kreacher owned. "But I can not deny what is true. You are Mistress." And then he added the shocker, "And now your blood has been purified. Your line will be true. My quarrel with you is over."

Hermione couldn't even begin to think of what to say or even form an idea of how to express her confusion. But she remembered the ceremony, remembered how the magic had flowed through her, over and over. She always wanted to understand things, but her mind was too flooded everything that had happened.

Then Kreacher admitted, "Though I still hate the boy."

Despite herself, because, his confession made her feel strangely better, Hermione smiled. Then, because she could not let him hold the keys longer, now that she understood that they really were for her, she reached out to take what was offered. Her hand shook as she reached out for the keys, recognizing that one was a house key and the other belonged to Gringotts. She couldn't even begin to fathom how that was going to work. "Is there...," she licked her lips, trying to get a grasp on things, "Is there anything else?"

"With two, there needs more. Kreacher requests a companion."

"Done!" The head elf said. "House Black will have its due. Three house elves to see to the work, and as the house grows..."

Kreacher bowed suddenly, sharply, with an actual smile upon its face. The smile actually shocked Hermione, as she'd not ever thought it possible. "Will Mistress Black require anything else?"

Hermione gasped, realizing that she had a sudden opportunity, a way... She looked up at Narcissa, not quite for approval, but because she knew her request might lead to an outright reprisal. But she had to try. She had to. She looked back at Kreacher, even as she leaned more fully against the other woman, despite the fact the blonde might strike her down for daring. "I require my wand, at such time as you can deliver it. Someone stole it. You may assign whomever you will to the task, but do not endanger yourself or others who seek my things on my behalf in the process. I just... wish to have it back, as it is mine."

"Kreacher shall see to it that all that is Mistress Black's shall be retrieved. Delivered here?"

"I will provide for my mate," Narcissa said coolly. The word alone sent a shiver up Hermione's spine and she wondered at how smooth and collected the other woman sounded in the face of these new truths. She was only just beginning to grapple with the idea, and even now, after knowing what they'd been through, felt it to be nigh unto impossible; unreal. Narcissa continued, firmly, "But bring her wand, and her schoolwork, to this suite."

Hermione blinked, "My... do you know... I forgot about that... the homework alone. My god, the catching up... I never thought I'd...Wait... but... I must help... I can't. I gave that up. No more school..." Even now she felt the sting of loss at the thought. It had been her great sacrifice for the cause of friendship and the eventual destruction of their enemy. "We have to... we have to stop him..." The words were a mutter, a whisper of her constant why.

"Shh," Narcissa whispered. Her breath flowed across the younger woman's ear pleasantly, causing a delicate shiver. "You will finish what you started." Her whispering voice held promise, an amazement, but then continued, "As no mate of mine shall fail to finish their final year. It would be unseemly."

Ah, she should have realized, Hermione thought, but for a moment, hope had glimmered brightly. In its place, though, another hope sparked, as she remembered the fury from the other night. By now Hermione was well acquainted with the fact that not everything was always as it seemed.

"But one thing at a time, my Hermione. You have other matters to attend first."

It was as if the words were a signal, one that caused a flare of desire to roar up and down from Hermione's navel. "Oh!"

"I think we are done here, for the moment." Narcissa said and in rare gratitude added, "Thank you."

"May your houses prosper."

And with that, the elves disappeared, leaving the two women alone to face what would come next.

- HP -


	3. Chapter 3

HP: The Good Side of Black pt 3

Hermione stared at the keys in her palm for a few seconds and then forced herself to pull away from Narcissa ' s grasp. Even as her body protested, she was speaking. " You ' re letting me have my wand. " She turned to face the other woman, gripping the keys hard enough to feel their bite, just to distract herself from the urge to lunge back at the shapely blonde in front of her.

A pale brow cocked on that far too pretty face, and for the first time, Hermione saw the connection between Narcissa and Malfoy. She knew that look very well, as it had been tossed in her direction more than once. It just never... looked so good or made her feel so...hungry. " Is there any reason I shouldn ' t ?"

Hermione ' s grip tightened and she forced herself to step back, groaned with it. " Yes, " she hissed. " There are a million reasons why. You know it. I know it. "

Narcissa let a hand settle on her hip, relaxing her stance. " Shall I point out that you haven ' t got your wand yet ? Or that our circumstances have changed by degrees so profound I have yet to calculate their consequence at a meaningful level. " She started to pace forward, " Why should I deny my mate anything she wishes. Does she plan on leaving me just now ? Do you honestly think you can ?"

Hermione was trembling with the effort to put distance between herself and the woman who slowly stalked her. She needed to be able to think. She needed time. " I don ' t know what I can and cannot do, yet. I don ' t know what just happened. " Her voice cracked. " I don ' t understand. "

"Oh, " Narcissa purred, her smile becoming predatory, " I think you do. You ' re a smart girl. It is not like I haven ' t given you the plot, Mistress Black. "

Hermione didn ' t quite flinch, but her back bumped into the wall, just by the door behind her. " How can this be, Mrs... "

"Ah !" The blonde raised a slim fingertip. " You know better. "

"Narcissa, " Hermione corrected in a whisper and then her eyes closed as a sliver of eroticism spiked within her. She used one hand to feel for the door and, once found, her fingertips wrapped around the frame. She leaned again, finding the wall much less comforting, than her... Brown eyes flickered open, her lips thinned as they compressed in fierce, thoughtful frown.

Narcissa found the expression suddenly adorable. She smiled like a panther at the girl. Her girl.

The cool of the wall did feel good against Hermione ' s heated skin. " Not that it ' s fair. If you can call me Mistress Black... " The words were only half-heartedly spat out, as she actually kind of liked the name Black. After all, there had been Sirius and Andromeda, and whatever their issues, they had never once said that Narcissa had not loved them. " Then I should be able to call you by your surname. If it fits. " It was a protest of independent thought, so randomly grasped, but oddly important to her.

"Hermione. " Her name was said very gently, almost kindly, but with enough of a hint of fire that the younger woman ' s body could do no other than respond. Then Narcissa ' s tone changed slightly, becoming a touch business like, " But of course there will be times when you will wish to say my name thus, and you ' re right, I should perhaps ease up on the use of surnames for the moment. " She drew close enough she could feel the younger woman ' s body heat, " But you have no idea how much it pleases me, how desirable, I find it. You. "

"I ' m scared... " Those two words cost her a fortune in intangibilities, something that Gringotts would never cover. Hermione Granger, now Black, never spoke of fear. She was always one for a brave face, an upright strength. But the moisture pooling between her legs, the need to rush forward just this moment, was making her weak.

Narcissa, now very close, slowed her stalking and paused. She cocked her head, taking in the flushed skin, the ripened and thickened nipples, the scars that could not all be erased. Seeing those, she felt a flower of unkindly anger toward her mate, at how she could begin to compare what was to come with what had already happened.

And then, like a kick to the head or just a profoundly simple epiphany, she understood and it took her aback, almost literally. She breathed out half the realization, " You ' ve never... "

Hermione ' s eyes closed again and she shook her head, a denial and acknowledgment. And then, as if the words pulled themselves out against her will, she said, " I never. I haven ' t had time. And never the right one. "

"Until now. " Then Narcissa stepped back slightly, eyes widening. " Of course, you haven ' t. Of course... You are... Exactly how old are you Hermione ?"

"Exactly ?" the brunette closed her eyes a moment, as if visualizing worlds within. " Twenty, if I ' m counting right. "

"But that ' s... "

"Not impossible. I have... had... a time turner. " Hermione ' s eyes opened and she caught Narcissa ' s surprise. The younger woman ' s expression firmed. " I needed a way to take all my classes. It ' s not like muggle public school here, where there are AP courses. I wanted... I needed to know so much. Even so... if you go strictly by linear time, I ' m eighteen. " Her body tensed a little and her eyes flashed with a touch of irony. She offered a little more information. " In muggle England, the age of consent is sixteen. "

Now it was Narcissa ' s turn to look discomfited, though it was very brief and replaced almost instantly with calculation. " And consent has been given, has it not ?"

Hermione blinked, startled and she looked into, well, one couldn ' t call the gaze that Narcissa offered amused, but the fair woman ' s expression was not a fearsome thing. No, it was quite the opposite. "Yes. " Though it had felt half the time as if she were outside of her body, she clearly remembered the elf ' s question and had known that she had made the choice to give answer that had fallen from her lips.

"Hermione, we can not stay in this room much longer. You are going to have to let go of the wall. Or I might find myself forced to pry you away. "

Hermione ' s issued another one of her silent laughs. " I need somewhere to put the keys. "

"You have a set of drawers in our room. "

"Oh. " The girl ' s flush rose from the top of her feet to her cheeks. She ducked her head and pushed away from the wall, not quite crossing the distance, which would have forced Narcissa to catch her. " Good. Thank you. "

It seemed amazing that she could walk under her own power. Hermione all but force-marched herself to the room, with Narcissa trailing behind her like an erotic, wafting ghost and ever present haunting of desire. The brunette did not look back, no doubt for the same reason that Narcissa pushed herself not to rush forward. They were riding near the crispy edge, and both had things to do.

Hermione stopped in the doorway, staring. " Is this how we left it ?"

The bedroom, which had been ornate before, in that its a room for the dark and wealthy kind of way, had been mildly transformed ; lightened and made a touch gauzy. Flower petals were strewn upon the floor, but not upon the bed. " I see they went for practical, " Narcissa said, amused. " Just put the keys on top of something, Hermione. They won ' t go away. "

As soon as she actually entered the room, Hermione ' s steps lost their surety. She did not stumble, but her progress slowed as each step brought a tingle of awareness, from the feet on up, of what was to come. The floor itself seemed energized with potential, and perhaps it was. More old magic ? Or just elf magic doing its usual thing ? Hermione could not say, but there were several flat surfaces to choose from, including that promised set of drawers, of which there was really only one piece. This too they would, apparently, be sharing.

Her hands shook as she set the keys down, briefly letting her fingertips run along their metal edges as if checking their substance. She realized she would miss their tempering bite, as in some ways that harsh grip had been all that had kept her moving forward. She heard, rather than saw the creak of the bed and turned to see that Narcissa already sat upon one side, on the nearest edge to where Hermione stood, legs crossed at the ankles, hands propped behind her.

Hermione ' s breath caught as she took in the vision of pale skin, perfect body, proud bust and those pink, pert nipples. It turned out she did not need keys, as her own nails dug in quite fine.

She fought for control, felt it slipping, as her teeth dug into her lower lip.

Narcissa, gave her that brief moment, then, sat up, shifting until she was fully upright and her feet were flat to the floor. She patted her thighs. " Come here, my Hermione. "

Hermione ' s gaze fluttered down, noting the nest of golden curls and how they glistened. She was unaware of how her nostrils flared, how her expression turned to one that held trepidation and want, deep want.

Narcissa thought about demanding, about compelling. T hese ideas brought with them tickles of delight, but she desired Hermione ' s free will, such as it might be between them, far more. So she extended a hand, held it out in invitation, as if she were asking the younger woman to dance ; which in a broad sense, she was.

Hermione ' s fists unclenched and she took a hesitant step forward, and then another, much more firm and then a rush of movement and Narcissa felt her hand taken, held almost too tightly.

The blonde drew the brunette in. " Straddle me. I ' m afraid we have no time for the usual games, Hermione. And certainly the elves have seen to it that we do not have the pleasure of disrobing one another. " She was gratified when the other woman obeyed, question in her eyes, but not on her tongue. She realized that the girl might have a reputation for speaking and having a million things to say, but she realized she was also a very intense listener. Narcissa ' s exhale was staggered as Hermione took her requested place, and she felt the hot contact of her thighs and the way she instinctively wrapped her legs around her own.

The older woman lifted her hands and and brought them up to Hermione ' s face. Her fingertips trailed the dim pale scars along the right side of her face ; permanent evidence of her trials in Narcissa ' s home. Despite the wounds that brought them, on her they were beautiful, marks of bravery. Courage. Narcissa was reminded that this girl was of Gryffindor.

Hermione, whom she would have guessed would at any normal circumstance retracted, leaned into the touch. The scars, healed, were oddly very sensitive and the light strokes caused a thrill to warm from belly to chest, to face. The brunette grasped the blonde ' s forearms, sliding her her hands up to where Narcissa now cupped her face. " I don ' t need games now, " Hermione said, her voice rough. " I ' ve had enough games to last a lifetime. "

Narcissa drew her thumb under Hermione ' s eyes, where moisture had suddenly spilled. " I know, " she said softly, letting her touch comfort where her words might not. " And more games to come, unfortunately. But you and I shall speak of this later. "

Hermione nodded, lowering her eyes. Thus she did not see the way Narcissa leaned forward, had not anticipated the soft press of red, bow-shaped lips, nor the way it sparked so suddenly, like a wildfire.

The brunette pressed back, mouth opening slightly, instinctively inviting the delicate intrusion of the older woman ' s tongue. She shivered at the sultry power of the kiss, how it seemed to ignite small fires all over her skin, her body. She was a flood of need and she groaned, reaching out and wrapping her arms in sudden possessiveness around the other woman ' s neck.

Narcissa ' s hands flowed downward, along vulnerable neck, across breast tightened by desire. She let her palms flow over both of them, cupping and teasing, nearly laughing as Hermione wriggled. Her own need burned within her and she realized she loved the way this girl, this young woman, kissed. She owned her lips, claimed them with a hot ferocity.

Narcissa ' s hands slid around the surface of Hermione's skin. It was all very soft and whole, due to the elves' mighty handy-work, but she could still feel the textural differences where scars crossed and blended. She heard the girl gasp and respond, shiver and arch, to her touch as they slid along the sensitive places. Hermione would always be beautiful, but some of the marks she'd gained from Bella's treatment, most magically applied, were etched forever; though their effects had been changed by the elves' healing magic. Now they were like a cat's secret pleasure, if one knew where to touch, one could cause the purr.

The blonde's touch moved to the girls back, the palms first and then, the nails, a light scraping. Hermione cried out against the kiss, thrusting forward as if needing and wanting to get even closer, but the older woman pushed her hips back ; even as she thrust her breasts up, just to gasp and feel the way their breasts rode and thrilled. Then, with deliberate motion, Narcissa spread her legs, spreading Hermione with her.

The lion-maned girl drew back from the kiss with darkened eyes and a startled gasp. Which became a different noise altogether, as Narcissa, wasting no time, drew one hand down and around. Another day she might have stopped to tease, but not now, not today, when what she needed to do was claim this woman. She curled part of her hand, but two fingertips slid and deepened across silken depth. Her mind ' s eye envisioned their rich color. The scent was enough to drive her mad.

Hermione ' s hips tilted in instinct toward the touch. Narcissa forced herself to slow, to move her fingertips in circular slow motion around the tender entrance.

"Please. " Hermione whispered against her lips, dragging out the kisses in tonguing desperation. " Please. "

Always so polite.

So different than she had been led to believe. Or rather, than she had wanted to believe. But now, her mate begged her, pressed to her with fierce urgency. She could hardly refuse.

"Hold still, " the blonde commanded. It was like asking the waves not to move, but she felt Hermione stall and that was when Narcissa invaded, sliding in against the gasp of startled stretch and moan. She pushed in, slowly, persistently, knowing that Hermione ached to ride by the way her shoulders burned from the younger woman ' s nails. She felt the tight barrier give and go, as she pressed in to the hilt. Hermione shouted and Narcissa caught it, felt the flavor of it. Growled for it. " Mine. " Always hers.

She pulled slowly back, felt her woman ' s resistance, until she pushed back again. " Now. Hermione. Now ride me. "

Hermione ' s thrust to her hand was a thing of beauty, trust. Depth. Narcissa felt her flex around her fingers, slide so wetly. The copper tang only added to the glory. She kissed her mate deeply, began to push and pull to the younger woman ' s rhythm. Her thumb brushed against the young woman's pulsing, sensitive pearl, causing more delicious cries. Narcissa felt heat grow and flood within her, knew her own hips were rocking, pushing her hand in time.

With a deliberate motion she used her free hand to guide Hermione, feeling no shame in the fact that her mate needed tutoring. Only a dizzying and strange, needful exultation. The girl allowed her hand to be shaped, drawn down.

"Oh !" It was an exclamation of discovery, as fingertips roughened by work and constant magical effort, slid with delicate determination along Narcissa ' s folds. The blonde ' s legs parted more and she slid forward on the bed, still supported enough, but now open enough for the brunette to seek and find.

Narcissa gasped as she was entered, perhaps not so subtly, but the ownership was powerful in its own right. Her hips bucked to Hermione ' s touch. And the girl drew back, long enough to see that the normal chocolate gaze had turned a shade of gold and amber, even with the way her eyes were dilated. Hermione ' s expression was just as feral as the blonde ' s, just as claiming. " Mine !"

Her eyes sparked and Narcissa saw it. Magic slid down their arms, their thrusting fingers.

Then they were lost. Drawn into an ancient spiral dance, which only pulled them further and further into each other ' s skin.

It was no one thing. Kisses, the way their bodies slid together as they claimed one another, the glancing touches and the scrapes, that seemed just to happen at the right time. One moment it was all build up, all climb.

The next... It was an arcing ribbon of light, like the shower of sparks from a wand first discovering its companion. Only brighter and brighter, and so much deeper. The companion light surrounded them, ribboned through them, scored them and tied them tightly. Their world shook again, like the slam of that great book, only soundless. Neither of them had cried out this time, as if what was between them had been so sacred that those constantly listening ears should not hear it.

But Narcissa and Hermione did. They heard each other, felt each other, filled each other.

And were lost to one another.

- HP -

Time was meaningless to them. Neither tracked the chimes of clocks or the way that food and drink appeared at regular intervals. The bed, the bath, the floor, the table, these things they knew, simply for surfaces and play - discovery spaces. Their bodies were ceaseless amusements and, yes, there were pauses and rests, yes sleep took them and dreamed them, but the flare of need would spark again so abruptly, so strong, that they had no resistance at all to the pull.

The elf ' s mischief was an accidental, but inevitable, discovery, and it could not be quite called mischief and it might not have been the elves, it was just Narcissa had wanted, briefly, someone to blame. It had been discovered while her mouth was upon Hermione, and she ' d allowed her tongue to rove through the sweet curls. Her tongue had encountered a bump, one that had Hermione all but lifting off the bed, and one not located in its usual place.

More, that bump responded, to tongue and touch, growing with swift speed until Narcissa was holding a thick, quivering shaft. Both women had stared, shocked by its sudden appearance and then they ' d looked at each other. Narcissa hadn ' t meant to flex her hand, but the way Hermione had bucked...

It had then become a case of waste not.

She ' d straddled her lover and then guided that thick, long rod blissfully, deeply in. Hermione had actually screeched with pleasure. Or was it herself. It was hard to say, as once Narcissa felt the way her lover ' s staff thicken and pulse within, the younger woman essentially took over from there.

Hermione was a natural, and already deeply sensitive to Narcissa ' s pleasure. Just as Cissy was for her. Her hands and mouth were a bonus, but that rocking deep plunging called forth primal erotic urgency. They pitched into each other, the sounds of their bodies connecting providing counterpoint to the naked wanton notes they could not avoid sharing. Even as Hermione steadied herself with one hand, the other was busy, palming across Narcissa's sensitized skin, breasts, nipples. The younger woman's lips applied sultry pressure, here and there. Her tongue drew arcane glyphs and sigils. At one point Narcissa was almost sure that her breasts would spill milk, the pressure to give herself to her mate was so strong. The need turned everything around, turned her inside out and all the plots and the plans she'd originated evaporated and disassembled around headier, more powerful truths.

By the time Hermione released and gushed within her, thoroughly and powerfully, the older woman had been thrown through ecstasy ' s fountain so many times the stars had re-patterned within her and her whole purpose had changed.

And then Narcissa realized, as if she had inherited Hercules strength and stamina, Hermione had not flagged; indeed, while nature had given them a moments rest the girl had remained steady and full, and then, as if compelled or simply because her need was strong, the young woman had begun softly to move and push within her. Narcissa found that her own sweet lethargy waned quickly, with each amorous kiss, each gentle thrust. A part of her mind remembered that she had intended to talk with her mate about something important, but the other part did not care at all and so then she'd joined the new dance with a hearty, surrendering abandon, wondering at how she'd changed in so short a space of time.

And, as before, they had loved one another again, and again. The younger woman had the blonde nearly every which way and almost tirelessly ; until Narcissa had pushed for rest from the way her beast, her lion, demanded.

She ' d been half afraid, that as delightful as Hermione ' s male aspect was, it wouldn ' t go away. But it did, fading back a little more slowly than it had arrived, but returning to its tiny magical space to await its next summons. Which, on the whole of things, wasn ' t that long of a wait as Narcissa quite delighted in all aspects of her mate.

- HP -

It was not a case of enough, as it was possible that neither woman would ever have enough of each other, but a point came, when Ginda came into their rooms while they rested. The elf found them entwined, and when they sat up, it took a moment to reposition themselves with Hermione, though shorter, behind, and Narcissa reclining on her front. Hermione ' s arms wrapped around Narcissa ' s belly and her expression was completely relaxed for the first time since the whole thing began.

"Forgive the intrusion, Mistress, but this one must tell you... " The head elf looked away as if sheepish.

Narcissa ' s voice was like warm honey, a leftover purr, " ... must tell us what ?"

"We interfered. " The head elf took a step back, as if expecting one of the women to leap forward at them.

"Really, " Narcissa drawled, her expression amused. " Tell us how. "

"We did as you bade, yes, in the healing, planning for what you needed. And the bonding, yes. We were aware you needed time for your completion, as such things, need time. " Ginda shifted nervously and wrung her hand. " But time still had to move, you see, if slowly outside, but there are those around you... "

Both Narcissa and Hermione glanced at each other. " Yes ?"

The house elf at first looked embarrassed and then put on a brave face, bouncing forward on her feet, with a kind of agitation. " We let them hear some of the screams, Mistress. The ones most... frightening. It was expected. " She grimaced. " We perhaps... embellished. She wanted screams. And if she had come in, it would have ruined... "

"Ah... " Narcissa drawled, suddenly understanding. " Of course. Then, one may say you guarded us ?"

"Would one say ?" Ginda looked hopeful, but a little terrified.

"Has she, " the emphasis was clear as to whom Narcissa meant, " ... touched you ?"

"No Mistress, just things thrown. No elf will tarry overlong with her. "

"Good. I do not permit you to come to harm by Bellatrix ' hand. She may be my sister, but you are far too valuable. "

The smile they received was as bright as any seen. " Mistress. "

"Then one will say that your duty to me, to my Hermione, to Draco, is to guard, yes ?"

"Yes, Mistress. We will. "

"Well done. How much time has passed in their time ?"

"Two days, Mistress. Shall the elves allow time to flow again ?"

Narcissa felt great reluctance to return to the world, but every honeymoon ended. " Yes. But give us time to prepare. And alert us when you do. "

"Yes, Mistress. "

The house elf disappeared again.

Hermione said softly, " I ' m not sure we ever had that talk you planned... "

Narcissa turned in her arms, grinned and moved upwards to capture the lips she ' d grown quite familiar with. " What talk ?"

- HP -


	4. Chapter 4

HP: The Good Side of Black pt 4

Narcissa Malfoy left her suite with a confident stride. She wore a high, open collar black gown threaded with a panel of silver floral motifs down the front and the sleeves. The black was deep enough to shimmer blue as she walked, sparking the anticipatory gleam in her azure eyes, and flattering the satisfied smile on her lips. Because the gown was long and her stride even, it was as if she glided along the floor. She wore black and silver adornments, including, hidden in the opposite sleeve from her wand, a black and silver dagger. Hermione had insisted.

The younger woman followed, two steps behind, also dressed in black. The skirt was shorter, barely school-appropriate thigh length and crisp. The blouse was silk, the jacket, lined in silk, but as crisp as the skirt. Around her neck was a black and silver choker. One jacket pocket held keys. In one of her sleeves, her wand, returned without fanfare and set by the keys where she'd left them. In the other the companion knife to Narcissa's. Hermione would never go without a blade again.

Both women held their heads high, walked in a tandem pace, though separated by distance. Narcissa's gaze was straight ahead, while Hermione watched not just her back, but everything around them with a sharp gaze. They went down the hall, followed by the curious eyes of paintings. Then they moved downstairs, even-clipped, no words exchanged.

They made it all the way to the near the middle of the great central parlor, where Hermione had first been struck down, before someone grew wise to their movements. Then a figure apparated in a darkling cloud.

"Going somewhere?" Bellatrix, also favoring the black that day, rose like a dark phoenix. Her raven hair was luxuriously curled atop her head. Like her sister, her blue eyes held a gleam of anticipation, as she desired to hear in glorious gory detail all the things that had caused those soul-scouring screams. She was quite primed for the reveal, having stood outside the doorway of Cissy's rooms on more than one occasion. Now her smile was cold, dangerous. Expectant.

Narcissa actually smiled back, almost warmly. "Bellatrix. Good morning." She strode forward, laid air kisses on her sister's cheeks. It caused the darker witch to blink in surprise. Hermione stilled, again two paces away, expression alert and body language stiff. The blonde's words carried through the parlor "How fare you?"

Bellatrix, distracted and not quite aware of what was different about her sister, except that she was greeting her like a normal person, only half gave the ritual return as her gaze had turned, taking in the girl. She didn't reply, but started to stalk forward. Only to be halted by a cold sharp near command, "Mustn't touch. Mine."

Something in the way Narcissa said those words caused a repeat of that shiver of dread from the other day to roll up Bella's shoulders; only stronger and more persistently. This caused a discomfort, which made the dangerous woman to feel suddenly hostile. She turned, ready to snap at her sister, but found her sister gazing back, not quite smiling, but still in that strangely open state. She looked particularly beguiling and so relaxed that, from Bella's point of view, she appeared years younger. But there was a caution in her eyes, a dare. The darker of the three mages pondered the thought that the torture of Hermione seemed to have actually been beneficial for Narcissa.

Well, she did have a lot of anger about poor Lucius and then there was the girl's horrendous treatment of Draco…

And Cissy… well… when her mind got set on something, best not to interfere.

Bella settled her shoulders, suddenly unwilling to try her sister's patience. She explained it to herself as a courtesy. After all, Narcissa had been very nice, until Bella had gotten distracted. It had been quite refreshing, actually. She was sort of getting used to being barely tolerated, but it did hurt. And this return to what seemed to be honest sisterly friendliness wasn't something she felt the need to stop, just yet. So she settled on addressing the question, which, if Cissy didn't answer would give her a reason to take things further. If necessary. "You didn't answer my question."

"No. I suppose I didn't." Narcissa shrugged. "Hermione, please tell Bella where we are going."

Hermione's tone was compliant, soft. She offered the information, no more and no less. "Gringotts, the Ministry and then to Hogwarts. Then we will return to the manor."

Narcissa added a little to the itinerary. "We might stop for a little nourishment and shopping along the way, but nothing serious. That's not a problem is it?"

Bella blinked at her sister, "But she might try to escape."

The blonde began to laugh. It was a delicate thing, a merriment coated dagger. Bella, who hadn't heard that laugh in a very long time, couldn't help but feel strangely comforted. It was as if, finally, she had come home to something she recognized. It…warmed her. "Oh. I don't think so." The lady of the manor's gaze narrowed, "Will you try to escape, Beast?"

The darker sister was startled into a wicked laugh at the name. In all the time she'd known Cissy, her sister had never devolved to calling the lessers any sort of name. But she was slightly let down when the girl did not seem to react at all to the charmingly blunt slur; except to reply, "No."

Puzzled at Hermione's quietude and her peculiarly haughty stance, for someone who had obviously been set in her place, Bella began stalking around the girl, noting everything; the scars, which gave the dark mage a smile because it was like a gift from her sister to have kept them, the twined braid of bi-colored hair, neither of which color matched the unusually well-kept and curled brown hair, a curiosity, and then there was something else, which nagged, but she couldn't place her wand tip on it. Bella held her wand out, but she did not touch Hermione with it, merely waved it lazily about, as if she could somehow gesticulate the realization into her consciousness. "Cissy, what have you done?"

The blonde grinned, as if sharing a delightful secret and still in that light charming tone, the one that put society's elite on subconscious alert to danger, said, "Why, anything and everything I wanted." Bella felt a quiver of naughty glee at the implications and her eyes became alight with delighted malice. Truly she had made the right decision to leave the girl in her sister's 'tender' care.

"Anything and everything?" Bella inquired with a near purring hint.

Cissy waved her hand as if it were nothing, but the smile on her lips was predatory enough that the stoic brunette being talked about at last, finally, blushed. Bella felt a moment of absolute giddiness that only deepened when her sister said, very succinctly, "Yes." Then she shrugged and said, "Hermione, tell us why you won't try to escape."

Hermione's head turned just the slightest, so she was meeting Narcissa's gaze. Her answer was supremely simple, but powerful. Her eyes said it too. "Because I am yours."

Bella came back around, her expression mystified. She poked her face very close to Hermione's, but was, technically, not touching. The girl didn't even flinch, though her eyes tracked the other woman with a preternatural awareness. "Aren't you scared of me?"

The younger woman sneered, her expression as cold as any Bella had ever witnessed. It was quite impressive actually. "You've done your worst, did you have more?"

Before the dark mage could take offense, Cissy spoke. "Do not taunt my sister, Hermione." The command was a snap, a whipcrack.

The brunette tilted her head at the minion of the Dark Lord. Her eyes did not quite roll. And it was obvious that the settling of her posture was forced. Then she surprised Bella again. "Apologies."

Narcissa commented, "It lacked grace, but it will do."

"Merlin! You've broken her. You did it." Bella didn't quite stagger back, but her expression held astonishment. Respect. Was she truly back? Was her sister returned to her? If all it had taken was capturing this girl for her… she would have done it sooner.

Narcissa flicked her long blond hair off her shoulders, in a singularly familiar way, and Bella felt another crack in the shell and embraced it. Cissy asked, her expression a touch arrogant, but righteously so, asked "Was there anything else you wanted?" It held a wealth of meaning, covering vast territory between them. It was as if, Bella could, again, ask for anything and the impossible was achievable. Cissy smiled directly at her sister again, which made the Bella almost smile back. "Would you like to come with us?"

Bellatrix LeStrange stared at her sister with more than a little awe. She shook her head, dazedly. "No. No. I don't think I will. Thank you for the invitation."

"Of course. Your rooms are comfortable?"

"Yes. Quite."

"Excellent. I am glad to hear it. Would you mind terribly if we never let that Fenrir thing back into manor? I didn't like the way he talked of her, as if he had any possibility of owning her. I won't be happy if he does it again, which you already know. I've given my Beast permission to protect herself, using any means necessary, and if she happens to kill him, well...," the blonde shrugged, "... is it really that much of a loss?"

Bella's mouth opened and closed and she blinked. Trying to grapple with what her sister was saying, finding it both hard to believe and surreal, and yet, because of the way Cissy stated it so calmly, she knew it had to be absolutely true. "I will tell him he is unwelcome. But you forget, we have meetings."

"Fine. In the chamber and the front hall, but nowhere else. Don't dare him Bella. I'm really quite serious."

Bella, glanced back at the quiet brunette, whose attention was not on her at all anymore, and actually seemed introspective. She tried to remember why she stopped her sister in the first place, but that original urge to find out everything that had happened had been sideswiped by this astonishing turn of events. And, as her life was very short on the more pleasant whims, she decided to just go with it. She sounded almost like her old self when she said, "I'll have a little talk with him, Cissy."

"Thank you, Bella. You are a dear." This time Bella really did do a double take, which both of the other women most wisely ignored. "Hermione, come."

And with that, the two women left the great parlor and then the manor.

- HP -

The two women arrived via one of the public floo's, very near the venerable Gringotts Wizarding Bank. It was here that Hermione took the opportunity to speak, stepping close to Narcissa. She whispered. "Are you very sure, Cissy?"

She was referring to the revelation shared as an act of trust with her mate, but not really a surprise to her, that Hermione had in fact last visited the bank during a time of excitement. The brunette more than half expected to see her name and image plastered everywhere with a wanted sigil; well, at least her old name, anyhow. One of the reasons she was tortured in the first place was that Harry, Ron and she had gone to Gringotts, disguised and invisible, and accessed Bellatrix LeStrange's vault, with the help of an inside man. They successfully stole a sword and a cup. They also stole a dragon, which broke through miles of cavern and buckled the floor, destroyed the top of Gringotts. Then, basically, flew away in their final escape.

The only reason she could come up with, that her name and image weren't plastered everywhere, was that the bank was so embarrassed by the success of their heist, that they simply refused to acknowledge it even happened.

Though, maybe it wasn't just the Dark Lord who had a bounty on their heads. The thought made Hermione pale.

"The sooner we do this, the sooner you may take your rightful place." Narcissa started toward the front door, without further hesitation, forcing Hermione to follow. When they went through the door, Hermione expected all sorts of bells and whistles to cry in alarm, but there was nothing. The guards at the door just watched as they passed. The brunette struggled to keep the surprise out of her expression, but it was difficult, because now she had all sorts of questions rolling through her head.

Narcissa lead them to the far end of the bank in that regal glide, until they were near a teller's station by the head of the bank. The goblin in the high seat looked down, and then appeared slightly taken aback.

That, for some reason, reassured Hermione that she wasn't completely off the wall in her worry.

"Lady Malfoy," the goblin said, his eyes casting back and forth between the two women, "How may I assist you."

"We need to check a bloodline, gain a little paperwork, set right a wrong, and to visit a vault. Maybe two, depending on the time. We would like to handle the bloodline check first."

The goblin's expression pinched and then approximated a smile. It slid off its chair, disappeared for a few moments and then appeared beside them, in the company of another goblin, whom Hermione recognized. Once again she expected Bells and whistles and dire things, but the manager just smiled, holding his arms at his back, while the teller said, "Lady Malfoy," he hesitated, "... and friend, if you will follow us please."

Wordlessly, Narcissa did so, with Hermione following and feeling as if every eye in the building was upon them. She glanced up at the repaired ceiling, taking in the immensity of the chandeliers and realized that, it did seem as if nothing had really happened. Though, she distinctly remembered the dragon.

They entered an office, and were led to a desk, where a magical sheet of blank paper and a pen knife awaited. Now Narcissa stepped to the side, jerking her head in such a way that Hermione knew she was to step forward. The younger woman cast a glance at the blonde, then at the curious goblins, both of whom seemed interested in the outcome.

Well, she was too, actually.

She lifted the penknife, looked at the sharp blade, smiled despite herself. This caused some eyelid fluttering on the part of the goblins, as most humans never enjoyed this process. She pricked her fingertip without so much as a flinch, turned her hand and watched as three drops splattered upon the blank page.

Which, suddenly wasn't blank anymore. Gold and silver twined around the border as words abruptly writ themselves upon the page. She heard the exclamation of surprise from the goblins, but her eyes were on the larger text, because she still wasn't really used to it. Hermione Black. However, the smaller text was what held the Goblins' attention, for though there wasn't a parental lineage, per se, it was written that Hermione was of the root stock, the purest. And then there was the notation of the bond, naming her consort.

"Well then," Narcissa said, satisfied, "I believe that should solve many things."

The head goblin could hardly take his eyes off the page, but he did respond, "Yes, Lady Malfoy. It …" he gathered himself, straightening his tie, his shoulders. "It does." He cleared his throat. "Would the Lady require a copy."

"Yes, thank you. We will be heading to the Ministry after this. Hermione, please display your key."

"What? Oh. Right." She drew the key from her pocket, looking down at it for a moment as she remembered when it had been gained, and then, feeling a touch reluctant, she undid the clasp that held it to the house key and handed the Gringott key to one of the waiting Goblins.

She half expected the attendant to snatch it away, to growl about how she didn't deserve such an item, but all it did was peruse it as if the object were a puzzle. And then it offered a little humph of discovery, "If Mistress Black will wait a moment, I will confirm the … legitimacy of this key."

"She is pleased to wait," Lady Malfoy said, "And as such a search may take time, perhaps the manager and I might have a word, in private."

"It would be my pleasure," the manager said, casting a baleful look at the brunette before fully settling his attention on the blonde.

"Excellent. Hermione, stay here and wait. Be here when I return."

"As you wish, Lady Malfoy."

The manager was once again taken aback, but he recovered, and then, extending an arm with a slight bow, "If the Lady will follow."

Hermione watched them go, feeling a touch discomfited at letting her mate out of her sight. And then, when the door shut, she set about waiting. It was during this time that she noticed that the guards seemed to have moved a little closer, and there were more gnomes watching her than previously thought, and then there were the paintings, which, while she couldn't call them exactly glaring, certainly held her in their sights.

She tried not to sigh, nor to fidget. Instead she set her mind to the task of imagining the layout of the bank and an escape route if needed. Though, honestly, she was loath to utilize such thing except as a last ditch emergency effort. After all, Narcissa had all but told her to stay.

Or rather, she had explicitly made her order clear in front of an audience.

When she comprehended that, the demeanor of those watching her so closely and carefully took on a whole new meaning. They weren't watching her because they thought she'd take something. They were watching to see what she would do.

After that epiphany waiting was a simple road, with only the smallest bobble, when the gnome came back with the key.

"Mistress Black, your key is approved. Would you like to see your vault?"

"Uhm," Hermione paused and glanced at the door. "I'm waiting on Lady Malfoy. Would it be possible just to get a summary of content, if there is any?"

The gnome suddenly smiled, genuinely. "Of course. Will you follow me?"

"I'm sorry, I can't. Lady Malfoy asked me to wait here and I do not wish to disappoint her."

"Ah. I see. Well, then. Mistress Black, if you will tarry here a moment longer, I shall get that list." He handed her the key.

She felt better with it in her hand, and exhaled in spite of herself. "Thank you, sir." Then she tied her key back to house key and dropped it into her pocket with a little pat.

The door to the manager's office opened and Narcissa stepped out and called, "Hermione, if you would come here for a moment, please?"

Suddenly gnomes and guards and paintings had other things, busy things, to do. Hermione ignored the flurry of activity and strode toward her lover without too much undue haste. Or so she hoped. Narcissa held the door and they brushed closely together.

It was probably good they had clothes on, as the sudden heat which took her cheeks had nothing to do at all with bashfulness and she was very grateful for her jacket, which hid the evidence of her quickened need. "Beg pardon, Lady Malfoy."

"Accepted." Narcissa commented easily. "Take a seat," the blonde waved at one of two chairs set in front of a massive desk, behind which sat the manager. He was peering at a ledger, through a pair of unusual thick-lensed glasses, which he took off as soon as Hermione and then Narcissa were seated.

"Where were we?" Narcissa queried, as if she didn't know quite well where they had left off.

"The sum of payment for restitution to the bank, in regards to infrastructure, injury and repair of reputation."

"Ah yes. The sum, which was gratuitously large."

"There was also the matter of duty owed to the owners of the vault."

"That has been paid. Hermione, please stand, take off your jacket, and your blouse."

The brunette did not even hesitate, nor did she slide so much as a glance in Narcissa's direction or the Manager's. She simply did as commanded, stripping down to her bra and skirt, she settled the jacket and blouse upon the chair, neatly. "Turn, slowly and all the way around, for the Manager."

Hermione did so, without question, stopping only when she had completed the full turn.

Narcissa said, "If you wish my vow, I will give it, but this is after the deepest healing possible and most wounds delivered by the hands of the owner of the vault. Some by her friends. Some by me. Hermione's duty has been paid."

At first Hermione thought the goblin's expression was disdain, and then she realized, after a second, it was pity. She felt a flush of anger rise, and then, her hand was grasped and held. She let herself quiet, out of an ingrained habit of survival and a newly added one of trust.

"Claim has been met, I will so sign," the Manager said.

"You may dress again, Hermione." Narcissa's voice was very gentle. "And please take your seat once more."

They waited quietly for her to don her clothes. By the time she was sitting, there was a knock at the door. It opened with a wave of the Manager's hand. The gnome, who had been assisting Hermione previously strode in with a sheaf of papers, which he delivered to the Manager. He then turned, started back out and said sotto voice as he passed Hermione, "It's going to sting."

Hermione could not resist, "What's one more?"

"Hush," Narcissa gentled her lover, laying her hand on brunette's knee.

Hermione suspected that the Manager knew exactly what was on that list, but he made a show of looking through it anyhow. She, of course, had no clue. She did not know what was valuable, what wasn't. She did not know if there was gold or if it was empty. He could lay claim to it all, in the name of the bank, and probably be within his rights and she realized that Narcissa's sole goal was not to necessarily give her access to the vault that matched her key, but to clear her name.

"Lady Malfoy, I read here more than sufficient sum to cover the costs mentioned. Are you absolutely sure that you wish to take upon you the burden of half?"

"She is mine, sir. I do."

"Mistress Black, do you of your own free will agree to pay the sum of which you owe, from your vault, to only include the galleons and not any other substance."

Hermione still had no idea how many galleons were even in question, but she trusted Narcissa. "I do. And, sir, I humbly apologize for any inconvenience and harm my actions may have caused this bank, its proprietors and its customers. I can only say that we were trying to achieve the higher good, but I understand if you do not believe that the effort was worth the damage."

The manager set the sheaf of papers down and clasped his hands together, crossing his fingers tightly. "While we would perhaps find Hermione Granger guilty of charges worthy of the penitentiary, Hermione Black, Ms. Granger reformed, is worthy of access to this bank. She may utilize the keys that she is given or may claim and has all the privileges, rights and responsibilities of a customer of this Bank. Hermione Black, your debt is paid in full. Your obligations fulfilled. You old name and image have been rescinded from the blotters. And, if I may be so bold, Felicitation upon your Union."

Hermione felt then, an eerie sensation wash over her, as if the skin of her scalp had suddenly loosened after a headache. A guilt, she hadn't realized she'd been carrying, lifted. And she also felt a warmth at his kindness. "Thank you sir."

He nodded and lifted the sheaf of papers. He got out of his chair and walked around the desk, until he was positioned between them. Hermione decided that, at his diminutive size, he was still impressive. "You will find the account reflects the exchange and a notation has been made within your ledger. Ladies, is there anything else I may do for you?"

"Thank you, I believe one of your cashiers will do," Narcissa said. "I would like to visit my vault."

The manager smiled.

- HP -


	5. Chapter 5

HP: The Good Side of Black pt 5

Hermione was still a little glazed around the edges by the time they arrived at the Ministry, which was bustling with business. She had been in a state of shock since glancing, and this without a sincere perusal, at the list, which included what she now owned, which was prodigious, and was minus the rather soul-shocking amount that had just been funnelled into Gringotts' coffers. She'd still had more than enough to live on, and then some; some being a sum so large that it made her heart flutter a little to think on it.

She had wanted to talk to Narcissa about it, had intended, if not to apologize, to at least address the topic of the health of the Lady's account and whether she would accept an infusion from Hermione's account. But that topic had been sidelined by the visit to Narcissa's vault. Hermione, once standing amongst all that glisten and shine, had been reminded that the Wizarding world's finances had a very definite tangibility.

By the time they left the vault, Hermione's choker had been adorned with tiny silver and gold figures - two flattened dragons with a Gryffindor lion in the middle. The tiny charms sometimes moved against her skin. She wouldn't be able to see what the motions were until she had a good mirror, but she had been reassured by Narcissa that they would still after fifteen minutes and when observed by the non-magical, only rising to motion when needed or summoned by the wearer. The brunette could not begin to think that the only reason they had stopped at vault was for baubles. She had intuited that Narcissa meant the gift to be an object lesson, which was the following, her lover was a wealthy woman in her own right and had been quite serious about seeing to Hermione's needs, as well as possibly her wants and whims.

Well, and as Narcissa had attached those small bits and baubles, she'd certainly experienced all of the above, whim, want, and need.

The only thing that had kept her from taking her mate then and there, amongst all the pretty shiny, was that there was a goblin present and waiting for them.

This was the second reason for her glazed state as they entered the Ministry proper, and she knew that Narcissa knew it, as her walk had taken on a definite added sultriness to that glide, which made Hermione's tongue, among other bits and pieces, feel a touch thick.

They were stopped just off the Ministry floo by a tall, serious man, who uttered the word, "Wands."

He might as well have said, Papers or ID. It was the equivalent. They didn't have to give up their wands, merely subject them to an examination. One which brought the man's startled attention to Hermione's presence, but Narcissa was ready with the document from Gringott's and an explanation of intent to visit the records office. He let them through, without further word, but his gaze traveled with them for a bit.

He wasn't the only one who did double takes as they passed, but no one stopped them and they made it all the way to the office, where Narcissa powered through the officials like they were cotton candy fluff and she was water; an apt analogy if one went by scholastic houses. By the time they were done, after a few, "this is irregular," and "of course, Lady Malfoy, we meant no disrespect," Hermione's magical status and their relationship wasn't just a matter of bloodline, but of indisputable record; not necessarily publically available, but as confirmed by hierarchy as might be warranted. In addition, Hermione Granger's ministerial file as a person of interest was deconstructed, revised and refiled in section thirteen, never to be seen again. Hermione Black's file was pristine and back-filed, with a positively effusive notation from the Minister himself about the admirable, amazingly trustworthy characteristics of the young woman.

It was profoundly liberating, and somewhat entertaining, as watching the Minister and his associates grovel to Narcissa's artful manipulation was a thing of beauty, and a little terrifying. Cissy, had done this all without once waving her wand, or, thankfully, having Hermione strip. Not that the Scholar, for that was now what she was listed as, minded such things so much these days. She was far more comfortable in her skin than she used to be.

Hermione realized, or perhaps the idea was reinforced, that all those earlier internalized assumptions about the badness of Narcissa, at least, had been just that, assumptions. She realized now that Narcissa had been holding back; a lot. She wondered if her lover simply had been waiting for the right motivation.

Whatever the case, watching her mate cut through the bureaucracy and the bullcrap was an illumination. Hermione was aware that Cissy did spark a bit darkly, that she took a certain amusement from tweaking others and that Lady Malfoy had "higher-and-better-than-thou" so down pat it was unassailable. She was also aware that once Cissy loved, it was deeply and truly and once she committed, it was full tilt.

She now understood that Narcissa did not approve of the Dark Lord. She simply was trying to support her husband in the way that she'd been taught to do so. Among other things. The blonde was not an entire innocent, but then, neither was Hermione; whatever her glowing new file notes said.

It was during a lull in the entertainment, as Cissy addressed something about her Lucius, which did not involve Hermione beyond standing and waiting, that she was approached by someone she sort of knew.

Percy Weasley was like his brothers in that he was tall, his hair could be mistaken for fire and he had a smattering of freckles. He was unlike his brothers in that he was highly ambitious, wore crisp suits and robes to work and was thoroughly convinced of his rectitude. This caused his siblings and some of their friends to perceive him a bit roughly. Hermione, however, could relate to him and she knew that, whatever his take on the world, he did love his family.

The young man was stern as always, but he didn't take up her space or try to hug her awkwardly. He just paused beside her, in that quiet zone where onlookers waited for their friends and loved ones to conduct their business. "Didn't think I'd see you here, Hermione."

"Good morning, Percy. Yes, well, things to do, people to see. The usual."

The young man's huff might have been mistaken for a laugh. Hermione was never quite sure with him. "Well, I just want you to know, I fully support your decision to take on a new guardian. I'm not sure that I would have chosen a Malfoy myself, but it is an honorable house for the most part; if in slight disarray at the moment."

She debated correcting him, then decided that Percy was perfectly capable of checking the paperwork if he wanted to. "Well, I haven't met the cousins or the uncles and aunts on Lucius' side, so I can't say one way or the other. But … Narcissa was kind enough to take me under her wing and it's not Malfoy in this case, it's Black."

"Ah. I see. Well, I suppose that works too. She does seem to know her business. I don't think I've seen everyone so atwitter to assist someone."

Hermione suddenly grinned, now sure he had a sense of humor, if very dry. She said, "Well, it has been... educational."

"Indeed." Percy nodded. Then he sighed. "Well, it was good to see you. I wish my brothers had your common sense. Whatever politics there might be, it's better to focus on family and work than get involved too much in the muck." He finally took a moment to look at Hermione and appeared as if he wanted to bite his tongue.

"Mm," she hummed neutrally. "Sometimes good comes out of the muck. But I wouldn't recommend it for the faint of heart."

He fidgeted at her side for a few seconds more, then, not having anything useful to say. His eyes trailed the scars on her face, only just avoiding the appearance of rude because Narcissa called. "Hermione, come."

Hermione smiled tightly at the assistant to the Minister, "It was good to see you, Percy. Don't try to avoid the muck too hard. It tends to find one anyway." Then, without further ado, she turned and made her way to her accustomed position, following her lover out of that particular station in the Ministry.

A few more stops and they were on their way out, when they chanced another encounter with another Weasley.

Arthur Weasley was the patriarch of the Weasley family. He also worked at the ministry, with an emphasis in muggle technology. Like his sons and his daughter, his hair was bright and red and he was fair. He was a tallish man, with a kind face and personality. He was so occupied with the papers he was examining, he actually passed by them as they passed by him. It took him a few seconds. Then he stopped cold, head jerking around. He exclaimed. "Hermione!"

The brunette, on the other hand, had noticed him right away, but as Narcissa had carried on past, she had too. With the call of her name, her lover slowed and then stopped and turned, her expression narrow. "I suppose it was too much to ask," she muttered.

Then plastering on a cool smile that almost passed for gracious, she glanced at her suddenly still mate and drew close. She leaned near, "It will be alright."

Hermione's lips compressed tightly and the skin around her eyes had gone white, making the portion of her scars near the right one stand in relief. It was one thing to encounter Percy, whom she hardly knew. It was another entirely to be seen by Arthur. She wasn't sure she was ready, but as Narcissa started toward him, Hermione turned and followed.

"Arthur Weasley," Narcissa said brightly as she strolled toward him. She stopped a short distance from him, conversationally correct, but still a touch distant. "Imagine meeting you here."

Arthur was not one who was entirely enamored of the Malfoy clan, but he did like to think of himself as polite. He nodded his head sternly, keeping enough eye contact to be polite, but he was also fairly obvious in his desire to look away; to take in the sight of the young woman who everyone had thought lost to the cause. "Lady Malfoy. I hope the day has been treating you well," he managed. His head ducking awkwardly as he tried to peer past her shoulder.

His first casual glance noted the well made outfit, the surprisingly well-kempt hair, the way Hermione stopped just behind Narcissa, as if the older woman were a personal shield.

"It has been. Tell me, how is your family? Have you heard from Ronald? I saw him some time ago you know."

Arthur blinked, his attention grabbed, by her subtle jab. His expression tightened. "Did you?"

"Oh yes. He was slightly mussed, a bit bruised. Tell me, is he all better now?" Narcissa's eyes gleamed with a touch of venom.

"Better?" Arthur straightened and cleared his throat, "Well you know, boys. They do get mussed," he ground out. "Tend to find themselves in difficult situations."

Narcissa laughed, "Oh yes. I am aware. Boys will play, and it might get a little rough. Girls too, I suppose."

Arthur pursed his lips and obviously decided to play the game so he could perhaps find out more information, "Sometimes. I know Ginny, she knows how to roughhouse a bit. Comes from having so many brothers."

"Indeed. And do they look after her? Make sure she doesn't get left behind when they go places? I mean, that is what boys who are brothers do, right? Take care of their friends and sisters."

Arthur blanched. "We've raised them to do so, yes," his voice had gone very soft. "Molly and I...we've been very worried..."

Narcissa's smile was a dagger, "Worried." She savored the word, and found it lacking. "Of course you have. It is so much easier to worry than to actually do anything. But then, I think, Mr. Weasley, that perhaps there was also a choice that was made. After all, I know you and your friends are hardly ones to do nothing, unless it benefits you." The blonde stepped away then, turning, "Hermione, do you have anything you'd like to say to Mr. Weasley?"

Now Arthur had a very clear view of the young woman. She gazed back at him, expression stern though not cold and certainly there was not even the hint of tears. But he could see the visible damage and it patterned a cut in him, deep and wide. In his mind's eye, a memory crossed, with two bedraggled and scraped boys confessing their journey, the attempt to follow an impossible quest on their own, with Hermione in their company, their wild dragon ride and their eventual tragic capture. Even as they spoke of it, every other sentence, or so it seemed, was, "We have to go back."

But they were just boys and the truth was, Hermione was a casualty. The adults faced it. Or rather, Moody laid it out, saying, "Going back for her now, would be falling right into their hands."

Then Remus soothed and convinced the boys by saying, more than one way, and very gently and persistently, "The best way to help her now, would be to finish what has been started."

Moody had looked the boys right in the eyes as he'd lied, as the men knew what the truth was more likely to be. After all, war was sacrifice. And they all knew if something wasn't done, the boys would likely attempt a rescue on their own. It was highly unlikely that they would make it out alive. They couldn't afford to lose Harry, and Arthur wanted his son to have at least an even chance. "Continue on, Potter. We will rescue Ms. Granger. We'll walk Hermoine right out the front doors."

Arthur, had backed them, as the men had cajoled and tried to get the boys to face what needed to be done; to continue on their quest and defeat the Dark Lord. With their help, of course.

The Order had, after assessing the situation and given their current manpower, plus the need to lay low, made a haunting decision.

After a little time and inquiries during every communique, the adults told the boys that Hermione was lost.

Molly, overruled, didn't speak to him for many a long day. Things remained strained at the Burrow; enough so that even the others, who knew nothing of the situation, realized that something was wrong.

And now, here was Hermione, staring at him with those brown eyes, which glittered with a cool understanding. As if she knew somehow... or maybe had just now... pieced it all together, because of him. He winced internally. She really was a bright girl. He was going to try to say something, when she glanced at Narcissa and shrugged. The jacket made the motion seem elegant, easy. "No. Not really."

"Hermione." Her name from his lips was weighted with regret and sorrow.

"Don't," Hermione said and she stepped forward, her expression even grimmer and the glint in her eyes held that temper that his family knew she owned. "Don't you dare. I won't have it."

Narcissa laid a hand on Hermione's arm, distracting her for a moment, "Now Beast," she soothed and Arthur flinched again, as his mind drew all sorts of unpleasant reasons as to why Narcissa might call the girl that. "It's nothing to do with you."

Hermione shivered, and glared, but she accepted Narcissa's intervention. She took in a breath and nodded. "As you say."

"I do." Lady Malfoy then turned to the anxious and nearly devastated man. "Please tell your wife she need worry no longer and you certainly needn't concern yourself as to her well being. Hermione is mine now," Arthur paled a little, as he could very well guess what that really meant, and glanced at the stylish choker around Hermione's neck, which caused him to miss a little of what the blonde was saying. Narcissa continued with a cool smile, "...well cared for and has a place, which is hers."

"In your house!" Arthur didn't quite snarl, but the papers in his hands were crumpled. "With that..."

"I assure you, Hermione is far safer with me, in my house, than she was traipsing about where she could get assaulted by werewolves! And as for the mysterious that, which you are so badly hinting at,... that is the one who gave her to me."

Arthur flinched. "I find it impossible to believe ..."

"Believe it. And trust me. If she hadn't, Hermione would more than likely not still be alive." Narcissa's gaze raked the man up and down. "I think you and your...associates need to think about your priorities. I hate to point this out, but once back, He had all his followers from the gaol rescued. Say what you will about his frightful aspect, but He, at least, is loyal to those who are loyal to him. I am not sure I can say the same of you." She then glanced at the younger woman, who trembled beside her and felt the need to vent dissipate. She said, with concern, "Done now?"

Hermione nodded, not quite up to adding to the conversation.

"Goodbye Mr. Weasley," Narcissa said, suddenly pleasant again. "Please let Ronald and his friend know that Hermione is well. Come, Beast."

With that, they both turned and walked away.

- HP -

Aware that Hermione had been a bit disarmed by the encounter with Arthur Weasley, and less so, his son, Cissy determined that she'd been right to tack on a bit of shopping and lunch to the itinerary. They visited a very ornate tea-house, which had set Hermione's attention wide and the meal had been gratifyingly pleasant, as her companion was good company, curious and interested in everything around her. Narcissa was not immune to the careful, heated glances and halfway debated whether finding a room would be a worthwhile proposal. However, she imagined, if they stopped the normal activities of the day, then they wouldn't accomplish anything more except each other; a fine and very delightful task, but one not conducive to arranging affairs so they had more time for it anyhow. The blonde was practical that way, even though it ached her to be so at just this moment.

Thus, after brunch, rather than drag her bonded to the closest affordable closet, they went shopping for sundries and supplies, after all, Hermione literally came to her with nothing and while jeans and sweaters might do for school, she needed more than that to survive the manor, to blend in with Narcissa's society and, well, just for fun. Some of the sundries were more see through than others.

Aside from a small joke shop, where Hermione paused, but did not go in, the young woman basically let Cissy do the guiding and the choosing. While some of the lesser shops were closed, some for repairs and others due to unnecessary panic, the kinds of shops that Narcissa visited, were always open. It did help to be a person of substance. More, she had surprised Hermione with an offer to visit some stores elsewhere, where it was... less tense. It would have been a matter of a simple wandstroke to change her clothes and take the floo network crossed the globe. At the younger woman's stare, Cissy said, "Not all shops need be in the Alley you know. And it might do you a world of good to visit other towns, cities and countries; at least across the continent. I think we shall arrange it. You would find it valuable, educational, my dear Scholar."

The blonde tapped Hermione's dropped jaw with two fingertips, smiling in amusement as the gawping stopped and the young girl caught up. "I've been to other towns before."

"I know, but you did you really have a chance to look around? Explore for the sake of exploring. See the sights? Have you been to Barkley's Museum of Magical Amusements? Pendragon's Tower of Power? Or Christies' Cube of Conundrum?"

Hermione shook her head in the negative. The question caused her to think about the fact that there really weren't all that many forays out of Hogwarts, and her world, until her journey with Harry and Ron, had been… somewhat well contained. She had read about so many places, had made many mental notes about where she'd like to go when she graduated. It never occurred to her to think, perhaps, there ought to have been more opportunities to visit other places while in school. After all, at home, before Hogwarts, she'd been on plenty of field trips, all safely navigated under the watchful care of teachers, parents and assistants.

"I thought not. In this, I must say, your education has been slighted. Though I'm sure they had their reasons." Narcissa caressed Hermione's face and then sighed. "Whatever the case, we shall make time for it. Not today, of course. That said, I think we're done shopping for the moment." Neither woman carried packages, as everything had been transported to the manor via a very efficient magical system. "It's time to visit the alma mater. Are you ready?"

Hermione considered, "As I ever will be." They'd already discussed the fact that she would be tutored at home for the time being. Narcissa saw it as the safer of the options. Plus, there was, of course, the mated bond to consider. They might have some stretch room at the moment, but neither were so inured that they could go for long without the other; not just yet anyhow.

"Hogwarts it is."

- HP -


	6. Chapter 6

HP: The Good Side of Black pt 6

The massive and magical castle had craggy mountains to east, a lake to the south, with the town of Hogsmeade on the other side, and great forest to the northwest, and to the west, there existed yet more forest before the gated and protected wide swath of space that constituted Hogwart's grounds. The gatehouse led from and opened to a road that allowed carriages and pedestrians into the grounds. Hogwarts and its grounds were guarded by thickly layered protection spells and wards, as well as by stone giants and the magic of the castle itself. The forest to the north was called Forbidden, as it held both mysteries and creatures so dangerous that one literally risked life and limb to enter it. It was not wise to do so alone, which Hermione knew because she had been in the Forest many times; with her friends. The forest to the west, apparently had much lesser dangers and Hermione could not recall that it had ever been strictly forbidden. The lake however, had its own dangers, of which she was familiar. Hermione had been in the lake once, as a game piece for a tournament. It was possible the mountain and hills that guarded Hogwarts also held their dangers, but Hermione considered that the Forbidden Forest was probably the place she least liked to visit.

She and Cissy appeared near the gatehouse front where a carriage, one that was usually stationed outside Hogwarts, awaited guests. Both Hermione and Cissy could see the creatures, which were like a mix of skeletal horse and dragon, which caused the carriage to move from destination to destination. Their keeper was less visible, but while Hermione had first believed it had to be her friend Hagrid who took care of them, she had come to the conclusion that she was incorrect. It was more likely the house elves. Hagrid no doubt led them to the stables, and fed them, but it would be the elves who saw to their hitching and other care.

House elves were very good at that sort of thing.

Neither woman hesitated climbing into the carriage. Hermione was a little disappointed that Narcissa sat across from her rather than beside her. It was probably for the best, as she was feeling somewhat handsy and they did have appearances to keep up. She hoped they got all of this done with, and soon, as she was starting to feel anxious and she knew that her mask of propriety was beginning to slip.

So, she had to, whether she wanted to or not, simply not look at the blonde; not even through her peripheral vision. They did not engage in discussion, as they had already had several relating to the topic of Hogwarts and its new headmaster. Her turning away probably was the right appearance to take anyhow.

Hermione watch the familiar grounds pass. The quiet gave her time to think back to their conversations and the things that had been revealed. She had learned that Professor, now Headmaster, Severus Snape had been Draco's Godfather and that her understanding of certain events had been deeply flawed. She was convinced, based on Narcissa's softly spoken confession of what had been done to defend her son, that Severus had no desire to kill Dumbledore, but had been outright compelled to do so because of a unbreakable vow he had taken on behalf of Draco.

It as a horrible tragedy. One that still conflicted in her. She might not have been enamored of Professor Snape's regular demeanor, but she believed Narcissa and found that her feelings toward the potions master had altered.

And she knew, though she had been hard pressed to admit it, that Draco had honored Dumbledore just as much as everyone of the other students. And, in the context of his difficulties, his behavior of the previous year now made terrible sense. Not to say she thought he was a wonderful boy. Draco was his mother's, whom she respected, but he had never been kind to Hermione and he still considered her muck not fit to be under his shoes. She was simply grateful she did not have to pretend any great love for him to Cissy. All she had to do, mostly, was simply be polite, which is something she was sure that she could manage for the majority of the time.

The castle loomed ahead, and she felt a familiar warmth upon seeing it. She was glad to help Harry in her quest, but she loved Hogwarts and always had, since she'd first started. The invitation to attend, the amazing things revealed, had all been like a fairytale. That the fairytale had gone dark, was perhaps not so much of a surprise. But she never forgot the first impression and that sense of awe, still welled within her now and then.

The carriage finally pulled to a stop just by the entrance to the courtyard and Hermione stepped off first, lifting a hand for Narcissa, who took it. Hermione held her breath to keep from hissing, shoving her mate back into the carriage, and taking her until they both passed out. The blonde let go of her hand as if it were on fire, which made the Scholar feel a little better. She wasn't alone in the suffering.

Once again Narcissa took the lead and set the pace, and it was a quick one. Not that Hermione minded. The courtyard, as usual, was filled with activity, though the students seemed a little more subdued than usual. But Hermione was gratified to still hear laughter and chatter from those who were in between classes. Some heads turned as they marched on the way to the headmasters. Some of those who caught sight of Hermione did double-takes. Some waved. Some called out. Some nudged their friends and turned to gossip with them.

But no one got in the way and Hermione did not respond to any of it, which was harder than she'd thought it would be.

It wasn't until they ran into Professor McGonagall in one of the great hallways, who clasped her near her heart on her chest and stepped back in shock, that Narcissa realized that a moment of truth was upon them. She talked fast, moved carefully, knowing that a wrong move could spike the other woman into a regrettable decision. "Professor, good day to you. It's wonderful to see you." Deliberately, she glanced at the black garmented wizard patrolling the hallway and then back again, causing McGonagall to do the same.

Gryffindor's mentor obviously struggled to find words, at first seeming as if she'd seen a ghost and then because she managed a good look at Hermione. Narcissa, who had been one of the Professor's students long ago, waited, deliberately keeping wariness from her expression. If things were to work out well, they had to act as if things were okay between them. Besides, she was actually serious in her greeting, as Minerva happened to be one of the better and more admirable instructors and that had not altered. Their politics aside, she and the professor had always gotten along.

"Lady Malfoy," the professor managed, leaned heavily on formality while she tried to catch her wits. Like Narcissa, her gaze flickered toward the guard, but her expression also tightened with caution. Her hand dropped and her wand slid into her palm. "To what do we the honor of this visit?"

Narcissa subtly shook her head and lifted her hands, palms up briefly before clenching and dropping to her sides, remaining wandless, in an ancient signal; not surrender, but peace, no trouble. "I am here on behalf of my Hermione to speak with the Headmaster about arranging tutors for her homeschooling. It came to my attention that certain obligations kept her from being able to attend on a normal schedule. Naturally we wish to rectify this, and see to it that her studies are concluded in practical manner."

The professor's attention snapped to the girl she'd heard was dead, her sharp eyes taking in everything in a quick assessment. She finally gathered herself, straightening her sleeves slightly, shoulders relaxing and holding her wand in a non-threatening way, but still visible. She nodded softly, her eyes sharp and dangerous. "I see. Shall I ask how it is that Hermione has come to be taken into your care?"

Narcissa exhaled in soft relief that the professor chose to be reasonable. "It is perhaps a story better for another time, but I am not unwilling to share it. Nor do I think Hermione would mind if I did. Would you?"

"I trust her," Hermione said, without hesitation. "I wouldn't mind."

Minerva was surprised by the honest reception of her question and shivered a little at the tone, or perhaps it was at the near glare that Hermione was sharing with the world. She offered a tight smile of agreement, her expressive eyes letting the other women know that she was definitely processing both what was spoken and what was not. "Well then, we shall have to meet again sometime, perhaps for lunch."

"Delightful. We will owl each other available times." Narcissa's smile was more comfortable, and surprisingly genuine when contrasted with previous encounters at the Ministry, "And now, Professor, we've held you up enough."

Minerva's eyes flickered to the guard again, who remained oblivious. Then she gazed once more at Hermione, as if quickly memorizing her features, before inclining her head. "It was no bother. Truly. Hermione, it's good to see you. I might wish you were returning full time to school, as I believe you were slated to be Head Girl this year. Our students would no doubt have benefited from your expertise."

"Thank you, Professor. I wish..." Hermione paused then and did not continue the sentence. "I am glad we had a chance to speak."

The professor's smile softened, even though they all knew there were words unspoken and that the only reason there hadn't been a more vigorous encounter was the location and the fact that there was a promise of further contact at a later time. She inclined her head once more, "Ladies." Then she walked on and they also in the opposite direction.

The headmaster's office was still in its usual location, but the portrait that guarded the door had been changed to an ancient and venerable wizard who had been of Slytherin long ago. He peered at them with an intrigued, serious gaze. As neither knew the password, and Narcissa was not to be bothered with guessing, she told him, "We're here to see the headmaster. Narcissa Malfoy and Hermione Black."

The painting's occupant offered a single nod and then began walking away, seeming to disappear into the distance. After a few minutes he had not returned, but the massive door of the office opened. Needing no further invitation, they entered.

Severus Snape looked almost exactly as Hermione remembered, except for a few details. While he stood as tall as ever, his cool aspect wrapped around like a cloak, Hermione sensed or perceived that he seemed tired; not in a ready to collapse way, but in that fighting against the wind too long way. He appeared paler, if that were possible, and his dark eyes watched everything like a hawk. His hair, often accused of being greasy, but really just fine, darkly shiny and long, no longer covered part of his face, but was swept back into a ponytail, as if he'd grown tired of it one day. He still wore the darkest robes and cloak and Hermione, after years of knowing him, suddenly thought it was very possible that his cloak hid all sorts of things that might compose a personal arsenal. Certainly he used it like defensive weapon now and then, and he'd been accused of being bat-like in the way he wrapped it around himself when apparating.

What really stood out for Hermione, however, was something she rarely saw upon the serious man's visage. He was sincerely smiling at Narcissa; tightly, yes, and the smile looked a bit like some invisible being was forcing the edges a touch, but his eyes, weary though they seemed, were also smiling. And he turned that same gaze to Hermione.

It was... disconcerting, until Hermione realized he might actually be glad just to see her alive. She also realized she was getting used to the second glances the others had offered her. Severus had not needed it.

He stood, walked around the desk and bowed in a courtly way to the blonde. "Lady Malfoy," he said and then, surprising the younger woman he also greeted her, also with a bow. "Mistress Black. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Severus." His name held a wealth of affection, a near purr, which for any other person might have led to a knee-jerk jealous reaction on Hermione's part. Except, she suspected Narcissa could not help it. They were both close to sparking, she suspected, and it simply lent a sultriness to the dialog. She began to think that Narcissa's insistence on two steps behind had been a practical declaration and not just a performance one. Her lady went into the same short explanation of their quest that she'd offered Minerva, including the possessive in regards to the younger woman and with a few more details which included handing him a sheaf of papers from the Ministry.

Headmaster Snape had then cocked his head and stared thoughtfully at Hermione. "I see," was all that he said for the moment, though the Scholar had half expected him to launch into a sarcastic diatribe about her absence. He then looked at the papers, and while he did so the brunette realized one thing that she could appreciate about Snape; his gaze did not make her feel subtly as if she'd lost something, say herself, in the translation. It acknowledged the wound and then moved on.

She found it oddly refreshing and suddenly experienced a strange liking for the difficult Wizard.

His perusal was not as swift as she might have expected, but then, he was not the type to simply assume he understood what something meant. He was contemplating. When he finally spoke, he said, "I am not entirely sure, Mistress Black, that you haven't already accomplished the necessary courses to complete your studies." He lifted a hand before she could offer a complaint and she realized abruptly that he knew her well and, the flashing glance he sent her way, carried an unusually visible dollop of... affection... relief... she didn't have a word for it as she'd never perceived it in the man before. But whatever it was, it shut her up far more effectively than his hand. "However, your studies have always been advanced, and it would be a shame to conclude them overly soon. Upon being informed of your arrival, I took it upon myself to glance at your previously planned course of studies. I made adjustments."

He cast a glance at her, the kind that might usually have been best effective if tossed over a pair of glasses, yet, at the same time it kept her from saying ought. "It is my opinion that your studies might be enhanced by some practicals relating to previous theoretical research courses you have pursued. More, all your cohort lost a year of DADA, due to the meddling of..." For a half a second she thought he was going to share his opinion of a certain infamous teacher, Ms. Umbridge, who had nominally taught the course. Nominally being the word. "... the Ministry. You may be sure that has been rectified."

Hermione squelched an outright laugh, one which would have been mostly inappropriate, and morbid. Her humor had become slightly twisted of late and she found the oddest things funny. Fortunately, she'd managed not to make a sound. She settled on an emphatic nod. It seemed safer, as she didn't quite trust what she might say just yet.

"I assume you will be satisfied with instructors from Hogwarts?"

"For the most part," Narcissa said, "though I reserve the right to approve and decline."

"Then we will see to the arrangements as may be convenient. Is there anything else, Narcissa?"

"Yes." The blonde extended her hand and the Headmaster returned most of the papers, except for the ones related to Hermione's scholastic endeavors. "Would you mind summoning my son?"

- HP -

"You have my assurance of your privacy," Headmaster Snape had just concluded when the door opened and a slightly winded tall and slim blond young man entered at a rush. He wore the robes of Slytherin and a stylish suit underneath. Severus, as his sole greeting, intoned, "Draco."

It was signal enough for Narcissa to stand and move toward her son with open arms.

The young man's blue eyes widened and he smiled warmly, saying, "Mother," just before he was gathered into her embrace. The hug was brief, but real. Draco's moment of parental distancing had happened and gone, but had resulted in an obligation of terrible proportions.

Draco greeted the headmaster next and then his gaze fell upon Hermione, who had stood up at the same time as his mother, though she had not stepped away from the seat.

He stared at her, both dismayed at seeing her and disarmed at seeing her alive and scarred. He almost managed it. He almost managed to sound as haughty as usual, but he could still remember her screams; which he hadn't enjoyed nearly as much as he'd thought he would. "What is she doing here?"

"And this, Narcissa, is where I part. You may have use of my office until your business is concluded."

"Thank you, Severus."

They waited politely until the Headmaster had departed and then Narcissa said, "Hermione, if you will come stand by me please. Draco, Hermione has something to say to you."

His sneer was a bit stiffer than normal, but he waited until the younger woman was in front of him and to the side of his mother before saying, "And why would I have any interest in what this mudblood has to say?"

"Because I require it." Narcissa did not often snap at her son, and the tone invoked a sudden straightening of the posture and garnered a startled glance.

Draco then looked at Hermione, gracelessly saying, "Well. Go ahead."

The Scholar, however, was not exactly looking at him. She was looking at the wall, the window, which drew daylight into the office, the various adornments of the office, which had changed subtly under the new Headmaster's influence. She noticed that there were more books and fewer knick-knacks. While perusing the office and avoiding looking at the supercilious young man, Hermione gathered her thoughts and only when she felt capable of delivering on her promise to Narcissa did she turn her attention to him.

Then she said, with a genuine modicum of sincerity, "I apologize for striking you Draco. Whatever your personal feelings towards myself, I should not have let anger goad me into causing you unnecessary harm. While I admit to feeling satisfaction at the time, I can not claim the same feelings now that my circumstances have changed. Lest you think I am begging forgiveness, be clear, that I am not. I am however, willing to start over, if you are."

Draco was obviously taken aback and his sneer began to take on its usual flavor. "And why should I accept your apology, mudblood?"

"Draco. I have taught you better. Whatever condition of bullying you managed to learn while at Hogwarts, I raised you to be a gentleman."

"But she..."

"Stop. Do not speak or you will regret it." Narcissa said firmly. "Do you have any idea why you were sent here in the first place?"

"Because Durmstraang was too far?"

Despite herself, Narcissa smiled with affection. "There is that, but there is also more." And then her expression became frighteningly stern, "It is because being my son is more than strutting around with mockery in his mouth. I had hoped that by surrounding you with a student body of various beginnings, you might begin to rise past the limitations of your father."

"Limitations!"

"Yes, Draco. Do you imagine your father, who now rots in jail and whom I am striving to have set free from that abominable place, is perfect? Do you think for one moment I am not disappointed in him. He broke a promise to me, one which he made to me long before you were born and then again after, and now you, my son, have a mark on your arm which obliges you to certain conditions of politics and servitude. You, a Malfoy and my son, are a mere servant! It is not to be born!" Narcissa paused to pull back her ire, while Draco blinked in surprise and sudden perception. She tried again more quietly, "He chose his path, chose to become another's in blood and binding, though I begged him to avoid such deep connections and thus all he left me with was a wife's duty, and ceased to be solely mine. Because of this, I can only do so much for him, and to keep us all alive, all my visible politics have had to reflect his ambitions. You, however, my son, are of my body and always mine. And you know, very well, that I protect and keep what is mine. Until you have a wife, then it will be her pleasure to guard you, and even then, always, you may trust in me. Because I love you."

Draco eyes had gone wide, his pale skin flushed. His mother stepped closer.

"Whatever the condition of your father and my relationship, it does not change this. So now I come to the point. There are many qualities in which I'd prefer you not follow in your father's footsteps, but the one thing you may have noticed is that your father never once maligned Hermione to her face, never once spoke without at least a polite front, until necessity demanded it. This is the expected behavior of a son of a noble house. Simple courtesy. It is also the sign of an intelligent man. Every person you malign unnecessarily becomes your enemy. Do you truly need so many? Have you not yet perceived the consequences? Can you not see the benefit of holding your tongue, before giving vent and revealing the worst of your thoughts? You are Slytherin, are you not? One who observes and molds opportunity to your advantage. How is accosting Hermione with your tongue advantageous now? Especially when, free and clear, she offers opportunity to mend the fence. Do you have knowledge of the future, which I do not? Do you so surely envision that you will never need her aid sometime? You are too old for me to do more than speak to the topic, and certainly you may hold whatever convictions please you, but I require you, as my son, to conduct yourself respectfully and with courtesy to others, especially if you despise them and more especially if you owe them. This applies to Hermione, who came to dire harm under our roof and who, through no fault other than her origins and her choice in friends came to your displeasure."

This final choice of words finally got the flinch she was seeking. "But mother..."

"No. There is no but in this. I won't oblige you to accept what you do not wish to, but you will at least be courteous about it. You are meant to be an important man in your life. You can have and do anything you want, but if you continue to let vicious whim control your tongue, your place in society will be limited and I will not have it. It is one thing to say such things in school as one is supposed to get past it. It is quite another to enter the world with such language on your tongue. You need never look at a muggle with love, or a child gifted with magic born to such beings with affection, but you need never say anything about it either. Keep your peace. Hold your tongue.

"That said, do what you must to survive in this dark company you are obliged now to keep, and if such requires your tongue to cast aspersion, do so carefully; with thought about what you say and its potential consequence. Think, my son. Think before you speak. Because it may mean your life someday."

By now he was straight out staring at his mother, trying to catch up with all that she had said, but mostly absorbing the tone and understanding that she meant every word. It took him a full minute, which she gave to him. And then, he shook his head and straightened his shoulders. Again he looked to find Hermione studiously not looking in his direction and this time he actually appreciated the gesture. He cleared his throat, "Hermione, apology accepted."

The brown-eyed girl turned her attention back to him and he flinched again, because this time he really took in her appearance. The flush, which earlier colored his skin abruptly vanished, sinking away to the pit of his stomach and leaving him slightly queasy.

"Thank you, Draco," she said evenly.

"Thank you, Beast," Narcissa said.

Draco's attention slashed toward his mother, "But..."

"Draco, she is mine. In all the ways it is possible. I will call her what I wish to. You, however, shall not."

And the flush returned, for a different reason, as he parsed the implications. "I never thought..."

"No. You did not. You and your father did not think and thus it was left to me, to decide and to do. And so I did. Show him your arm, Hermione."

Hermione took off her jacket, slinging it over the back of the chair. Then she undid the button to her sleeve of her right arm and rolled it up. She extended her arm toward Draco, so that he could see, and he stepped forward, looking down, at first with the thought that his mother must have believed he wasn't paying attention when his Aunt had defaced Hermione's skin and then with shock.

He wasn't sure how much more he could take.

Out of curiousity, because he truly wondered, he said, "May I touch it?"

It was his mother who answered. "You may, Draco, but only this once and only the mark."

He blinked at his mother, feeling a little breathless at the complexity of the relationship that the permission implied. Then he looked at Hermione, who merely looked back at him. He hovered his fingertips over the mark and inhaled sharply at the power he felt there. Then, carefully he touched his fingertips to the first letter. The power throbbed, not just her pulse, but something profound and potent. Undoable. He had that sense of a binding so tight it wound in degrees and angles he couldn't conceived. And unlike his mark, which pulsed dark, this one, though it too was writ in black, pulsed an entirely different range. "What is this?"

"She's mine. As I am hers."

Again he found himself staring at his mother. "But..."

"One can not bind tightly without giving of oneself. Not without leaving threads, which can be undone."

He blinked at her then and then glanced at his own arm. The ache of it hardly bothered him anymore.

"But... what will Aunt Bella do?"

"Nothing. She is the one who gave her to me. She knows my nature. She knew what I would do. It is Hermione who had to come to grips with the practicalities. More, it was a necessity. The Black line had to be saved and now it will be." Now his mother reached, and her knuckle brushed the younger woman's cheek.

This time it was Hermione who blushed, suddenly looking downward. Draco at the moment his mother touched the brunette, felt a flare of energy jump to his fingertips. He jolted back.

He held his hand, as if burned, but truly he hadn't been. It was just, all of his fingers tingled with shock. "I am having trouble understanding all of this."

"Its not for you to understand. All you are required to do, is accept what is. And to behave as my son ought to and to trust that this will assist our family forward."

"And the others, who are not your son, yet you must deal with?"

"I have let Bella know that Hermione is mine in all ways. She also knows, that my Beast may and will defend herself. I have so ordered. Keep this in mind, my son. She is as much of my household as you are. Consider her armed and dangerous. I am doing a great deal of speaking for her today, more than you should expect under normal circumstances, but I did not want you to go unaware and Hermione might not have thought to tell you. So we say it now. Hermione knows the Crucio inside and out. She is a master scholar, and she knows more hexes and bindings than you, surely, and most of those who dare to bring themselves to the manor under the guise of guesting. She is not as merciful as she once was, nor does she lack a vengeful streak. She is simply entrusting me with it for the moment." Narcissa let that sink in for a moment too. And then said, far more gently. "I am pleased that you accepted her apology. I will sleep better knowing it."

Again he paled, as the implications revealed themselves further. He glanced at Hermione, who had begun to roll down her sleeve with an apparent single-mindedness and felt a frisson of awareness. This was not the girl he made fun of in school. This Hermione was someone else.

"One other thing, Draco. Hermione is no longer Miss Granger. She is Mistress Black of the House Black. Her bloodline has been proved true by Gringotts." She did not bring up certain facts of nobility. The Goblins were under strictest confidence not to reveal it and the Ministry seemed oblivious to the implications. Hermione's true status would come to light only when they were ready for it. "You may pass on the new name to whomever you wish, but you shall keep her status to yourself, as it is none of their business." His jaw dropped and he stared at his mother open mouthed. She, however, carried on as if she hadn't just shook the foundation of his world. "If certain persons are truly interested, the paperwork is available. But I want them to work for it." Narcissa's tone was a cold snap, a frigid wind of hate.

He bent, nearly ducking behind Hermione to not bear the brunt of her ferocity. Then he said the only thing he possibly could, and meant it. "As you wish, Mother."

"Good. We will expect you for dinner this weekend. You may bring a friend if you desire." His mother raised a hand before he could speak, "Not Goyle. In fact, bring a girl. Someone who pleases you."

He blinked at her and she said, "It is time, after all, for you to begin thinking about your duty to the Malfoy line."

He blinked even more.

For the first time since he entered the room Hermione outright grinned.

Further conversation involved more mundane topics, as Narcissa inquired about school and his friends. Hermione took a moment to step away and speak to a painting to let the Headmaster know they were basically done with the office, though not yet gone.

It was as if she said a magic word, or perhaps he'd been pacing outside the hallway (unlikely), but the it seemed as if Snape arrived within seconds after the message was given.

"Ah, there you are, Severus. Just in time as always. Hermione and I are about to take our leave. Was there anything else you needed from us?"

"I believe that the arrangements we spoke of will be satisfactory. Though if you have a moment, I'd like to discuss one particular instructor with you to see if they meet with your approval." He tilted his head a bit, indicating a need for a little privacy. If Hermione was dismayed that he wanted to talk only with Narcissa, she did not indicate it. In fact, she assisted the Headmaster's efforts by sidling away to a window and gazing out of it at the school grounds.

"They always look like ants from up here." She did not shift as Draco drew near, though he knew she had to be aware of his presence. He had the feeling she sensed such things now, as there had been a shift in the set of her shoulders, a waiting and then an ending.

"I suppose they do. With everyone to their business, constantly moving. Or not." She glanced at the young man. "Was there something you wanted from me?"

In the bad old days, which could have counted minutes ago, Draco would have snarked something about never from a mudblood. For a few moments, habit nearly carried and then, he exhaled. "What are your intentions?

"My intentions?"

"Toward my mother."

Hermione went very still and then, in a slightly dangerous tone said, "Again. My intentions? Are you very sure you want to know Draco?" She couldn't very well say that right now her intentions were rather base at the moment. She wanted nothing more than to find someplace quiet to spend... time … with her mate. She was doing her best not to see Draco as a hindrance to that goal.

Ah; there was the glare he was normally used to from her. Except, it seemed to carry more shadows behind it.

"I am her son and I think..."

"It's really none of your business, Draco. Not even a little bit. She has already told you what the intentions are. She has already laid out the facts. You are a smart enough person to figure it out. But if you must know, my intentions align with hers."

He swallowed then, narrowly avoided coughing. "Yes. Well." Embarrassed silence grew up like a wall between them. And then, because it really had shocked him to see her he said, "They think you're dead, you know."

Hermione turned more fully to him, her expression almost neutral, except for the way her sudden pallor made the lines on her face stand out.

He looked away, unable to bear the sight and say this next thing. "They were told you were dead." Draco revealed. "Just before school resumed, your friends and I, we had a bit of a tiff."

"A duel, you mean."

"Yes. Weasley has gotten surprisingly better at it, as of late."

"Good for him," Hermione looked back out the window, arms folded tightly, expression gone cold.

"I taunted them with you," Draco said seriously, almost gently. She looked at him again. "They nearly killed me." He shrugged. "They kept yelling about how Professor Moody told them that you had been killed and how dare I? Well, you know, had to keep up the face of it, so taunted them some more, but... I thought you were dead too. I thought..." He looked away now, laid his hand on the window as if needing support. "I don't wish you dead Hermione. I never did. Hurt maybe, but... not the way... Aunt Bella kept at you each day, but when I was there last, I never heard your screams. I thought it was over."

Hermione wasn't sure how to take this revelation, but she tucked it away to ponder later. It put certain things into perspective and she felt a loosening in her heart, where deadly doubts had scratched their way into her soul. She was not necessarily relieved at the knowing, but she could understand, just a little, why they had not come back. Not that, by a logical accounting, they should have; but logic sometimes crossed against emotion.

She noted how he trembled, and finally asked the question that most bothered her. "Why did you join the Death Eaters?"

Draco stared out of the window, his gaze distant. "Father expected it of me. He has been preparing me since I was old enough to understand."

Hermione's laugh was silent, "I don't think he ever asked your mother."

"So, I gathered." Draco admitted. "I don't think either of us thought to speak to her on the matter. He had me so... wound up." The young man withdrew his hand from the window pane, able to stand on his own again. "It's … hard thinking of you as pureblood. I don't see how it's possible."

She didn't think Draco was ready to hear what she thought it was about yet. Maybe he never would be. Status had a way of blinding some people and her priorities these days were rather changed anyhow. So she offered him a plausible reason to hold onto. "You forget there is such a thing as adoption. So don't think about it. It doesn't matter anyhow. It's not about the blood for me ..." Hermione shrugged. "All that matters is that I'm hers."

For some reason, that reassured Draco more than anything else she could have said. "And she's yours."

"Yes."

"I don't think I'll ever get used to it."

Hermione glanced down at the grounds again and she unconsciously rubbed her right forearm. "It would surprise you what a person can get used to."

- HP -


	7. Chapter 7

HP: The Good Side of Black pt 7

After Narcissa said a much more pleasant farewell to her son and the arrangements for Hermione's homeschooling were finalized, the two women returned to the gate and its carriage. For the brunette it was an unusually excruciating walk, as every empty room and dark corridor and even an empty classroom with an all too convenient teacher's desk, called to her with a siren's song. Naturally this was also the the exact time that students streamed around them on their way to their courses.

She almost wished for the Room of Requirement, something with a large comfortable bed and enough time to lay Narcissa down and do more to those perfect hips than just watch ...

"Hermione! Hermione!" She was jerked out of her contemplations by the abrupt call of Luna Lovegood, who came as near to shouting in joy as she ever did. The slim young woman was probably the palest of her friends, had hair so blonde it was near platinum, and she was what one might call... ephemeral … in nature. Hermione seriously wondered, more than once, if she might actually have a little fae in her background.

Then again, her father was a bit of a strange one too.

Narcissa paused, signalling Hermione closer. "A friend of yours?"

Hermione nodded.

"Then we shall take a moment for her."

Hermione offered a tight smile, one which sparked amusement in her mate's eyes. She leaned in closer, a whisper that had the brunette clenching her hands into a fist to keep perspective. "Soon."

Hermione pasted her smile on tighter, turning toward the direction of the call. "Luna!" The girl drew closer and then suddenly smiled.

"Oh! You're not a ghost!"

"My demise has been greatly exaggerated." Luna grinned at her, reaching forward without self-consciousness or a lick of caution. Hermione cast a glance at Narcissa, whose expression did a remarkable impression of being mildly amused and not frothing on any level at the audacity of another touching what was hers.

Not that it would have been about jealousy, per se. It was that she and Cissy were so tuned to the need that was building within them, that the want to soothe was growing exponentially. And anyone else touching for a certain length of time was... well, a little more dangerous than one might suppose. As it was, Hermione imagined that their next coming together was going to be a tad rough. The anticipation stirred sharply within.

Even so, Hermione rendered the hug for a socially acceptable amount of time and then let go. "It's good to see you Luna. How are you holding up?"

The girl promptly withdrew, considered, and said, "Randomly. But there is much entertainment to be had in reading the news of late."

"And how is your father?"

"Recovering from our latest trip still. He finds most dungeons very damp and they cause him aches. He much prefers towers and sunshine."

"Well, so long as he is doing better."

"Oh yes. He is. Will you be returning to school soon?"

"Homeschooling for the foreseeable. I have family obligations." This, oddly enough, was what caused Luna to pay the remotest attention to the woman at her side.

The ephemeral girl studied the older woman for a moment and nodded. "And I see I should not keep you from them longer. Do come back, to see us sometimes, Hermione. Shall I tell the others you were here?"

"If they happen to ask, then please do, but don't put yourself out."

"I never do." Luna smiled and spoke, just before Hermione was able. "And, of course, I shall be pleased to join you for tea. Professor McGonagall will let me know when." Then with a cheerful wave she was off again.

"Curious girl," Narcissa commented, but as if she couldn't help herself, her hand landed briefly on Hermione's arm, fluttering down the sleeve as if wiping off some loose strand. Her blue eyes were just a shade darker and her tone a careful tone and warning.

"But not to be underestimated," Hermione said. She did not lean to the touch, though she wanted to, but she was aware that Cissy had to be seeing the fire in her eyes. "She just comes at the world," she used a hand to demonstrate, "a little sideways. It throws people."

"But not you?" Cissy's hand dropped to her side, and she resumed her normal aristocratic pose.

Hermione shrugged. "I figured her out a long time ago. It's why we get along so well."

Narcissa smiled with abrupt affection. "My very bright Beast." She glanced around and said, "Come, let's go before someone else decides they must verify your state of aliveness."

"I heartily agree.

- HP -

If the walk back was excruciating, the ride was torturous, as once within the carriage Narcissa warned Hermione off with a simple hand motion. It was not offensively given, but it was firm, and the girl was pulled between amusement, pouting without appearing as if she were doing so and a deeply sharpening want all the way through the return to the safe distance of the gatehouse. The ride was absolutely silent as there simply was no safe way to have conversation and not have an erotic consequence.

She was first out again, nearly leaping to the ground, and her hand went out to support her mate on near autopilot. It took everything she had not to jerk Narcissa into her arms and proceed with meeting the inner demand. Cissy chose that moment to speak. "You're doing so well. Hold on. Just a little longer," she soothed her younger lover.

Hermione at near growl did not dare reply.

The blonde did not let go of Hermione's hand, though it had to hurt to some extent, and the reason soon became clear. She apparated, dragging the younger woman along sideways in dizzying teleportation.

Once again they arrived outside gates, but this time, it was outside Malfoy Manor.

"Oh thank Merlin," Hermione gasped out, which garnered an amused and predatory glance from her mate. Narcissa waved her wand and the tall, dark iron gates swung slowly open. Hermione glared at them the whole time, offering a muttered, "Oh sure, take time opening now, why don't you..."

"Hush. Not far now."

Hermione managed a sketchy nod, but she did not feel at her most graceful and kind. She felt raw and needful. Hungry. As they stepped within the gates, and they began closing, Narcissa took her hand again and another apparation dragged her through the aether settling them firmly within the abode and on the floor where their suite dwelled.

"Nicely done," Hermione managed an admiration, which Narcissa merely took as her due. The blonde's expression turned warmly smug, as she dragged the younger woman along the hallway, hands still clasped.

They almost made it.

A black, spikey cloud wafted in front of them and then expanded, revealing the apparated form of one of the Death Eaters.

"Fenrir!" Narcissa's tone bristled, even as she dragged Hermione protectively behind her. "What are you doing here?"

"Tried to chase me away, did you? Think you won't have something to pay for it?"

"I gather Bella has spoken with you, and obviously, like the good henchmen you are, you are disobeying her word. I will remind you that this is my house and she is your leader. You need to go." She made a hand motion behind her back to Hermione.

"It's the Master's den, from what I see. Bella can rot in her crazyland. I may have to follow her now, but I got my own clan to rule. I've come to claim what I brought. Give her to me. I want her."

Narcissa's eyes narrowed at him and then she said, very calmly, "Despite what you think, this is still my home and the Malfoy Manor. It would be well for you and anyone else who may think they have a right to be here to remember that and not test my patience. More, Hermione was never promised to you. In fact, I distinctly remember, your request was denied. Either way, your claim is defunct. Hermione was given to me and is mine. You are too late, and your want has nothing to do with anything."

He snarled then, outraged. Narcissa continued in that same, cool, dangerous tone. "Leave, Fenrir. While you still can."

He laughed, his dark shaggy mane of hair shaking with it. "Oh. Such acting. One would think you were worried for my welfare, when we all know you're just as much a prisoner as the mudblood behind you."

"And yet," Narcissa pointed out logically, "I managed several errands to the outside world. Your beliefs and understanding are flawed. Obviously you are not thinking well. Perhaps your time is coming soon?"

He growled at her.

And then blinked as a growl came right back at him, sharp and deep and surprisingly dangerous; from behind Narcissa.

"Now Beast, Fenrir and I are still talking."

"Please...Please let me..." Hermione said, her voice rough. Narcissa did not look behind her, but she could see Fenrir eyes widen.

"Not yet, Hermione. He gets one pass."

"No passes. Let me see to it that he never bothers you again..."

"No."

"But you told Bella..."

"That you could defend yourself and myself. He hasn't made a real move yet. Have you Fenrir? You were just playing wolf, were you not? Trying to be Alpha, but it's not good to do so now, in my home. My Beast, she doesn't like you."

Fenrir spat, "She's a little girl. You play like she's fearsome and you're just stalling." He stalked forward, teeth showing and his eyes turning a dangerous light.

Narcissa flicked out her wand in a lightning move. He stopped as if startled. "Do not think me defenseless. I have allowed you in this house under the understanding that you honored your allegiance to the Dark Lord and his right hand. It becomes obvious your respect only goes so far. I tell you once more. Leave now."

He outright laughed and then, in a move that was almost too fast to see, bum rushed at Narcissa.

He didn't make it far. He never even got genuinely close.

Narcissa's wand had been aimed, but it was Hermione who was suddenly in front of her, and it was Hermione's whose wand flashed with power from a command silently delivered. And then another one and another and another in quick succession. The process could hardly be seen, but the results...

The werewolf was halted with a brief stun and then a second one hit, as he resisted, trying to and somewhat succeeding in pushing through the first muscle-freezing incantation. The second one held him, however. That was not so unusual, but it was what happened next was, as portions of the iron banister were torn from their natural places and flew toward Fenrir like dark shafts of doom. Then, they altered, their heavy metal surface took on a shiny metal cast in midflight, until every single rail had been transformed to a long piece of silver and flew toward Fenrir. A shouted, "Hermione, No!" erupted. Those silver bars, sharpened and pointed at the end, halted a handful of centimeters from, and encircling in staggered angles, the Werewolf. It was perhaps a good thing he was frozen, as a single step forward, which his body was already poised to take, was a death sentence; and one guaranteed to be a painful exit.

They heard a crackle and pop and then saw the dark apparation that followed.

"I thought I heard a commotion," Bella said easily, striding toward her sister. She seemed taller somehow, her skirts and robe less rumpled, and her hair more in place. She walked past the very still and dangerously entrapped Fenrir without apparently looking at him. She did glance at Hermione, whose glaring focus left no room for a return gaze. Bella smiled and then turned to her sister and kissed her cheek.

Hermione growled, again. Which prompted an exclamation from the dark witch.

"What was that for?" Bella almost sounded hurt. Or maybe it was amused. It was hard to tell at the moment.

Narcissa was blunt. "I'm afraid we waited too long. Her temper is short and touching by others is sparking her a bit. And then this one..." Narcissa used her wand to point at the werewolf, "Decided now was a good time to test everyone's resolve. He admitted that you spoke with him. I am halfway inclined to let Hermione have her way, as I am very put out. Do you need him very much?"

Once again Bellatrix looked at Hermione. She seemed to be holding her cast with very little effort, but at the same time her focus held a grim determination. Bella was hard put to decide whether that determination was resisting the effort to kill or simply anxiously awaiting it. She then turned and looked at Fenrir, finally walking toward him. She paced slowly around him, observing the careful aim of each silver rod. They were all directed toward important functional places of the body. Everywhere except directly to the heart. Hermione meant him to suffer, meant him to live just long enough to feel every excruciating moment of his death.

Bella finally said to her lieutenant, "Well, you seem to have gotten yourself into a fine pickle. I did warn you." His eyes were already wide open, as he couldn't even blink. "Were it not for the fact the Dark Lord needs you, I'd kill you myself for disobeying and trying to strike at my sister. As it is..." Bella's wand snapped out. Her expression went firm. "I do this for your own good. Crucio!"

The were's scream blew through an already open mouth, half articulate, but all pain. It lasted maybe twenty seconds, though Bella could have gone much longer. She had stamina when it came to magic. All of the Blacks did.

But she had more business to attend and could not linger. She released the incantation and then grasped one of the silver rods. "Girl, I need this one. Would you kindly release the others."

The younger woman's nostrils flared, and the snarl on her lips had yet to leave.

"Do as Bella says, Beast."

Hermione dropped her arm, now holding wand to the side, and the silver rods felt to the ground, except for the one in Bellatrix's hand.

"Thank you," Bella said cheerfully, before abruptly launching forward and dragging the silver spike along Fenrir's back; once, twice, thrice. He screamed each time, as she made sure that each cut was deep, through the skin and muscle. He wouldn't die, but he'd feel it. Already the skin on his back was peeling away from the silvered wound and darkening.

Bella let the bloody item drop. "Now, I'm afraid I really was serious that I had some business to attend. I hope you don't mind if I take Fenrir away from all this. Although now he's going to be useless to me for a day or two now."

"Be my guest," Narcissa said drolly. "We will hope he found this experience salutary. After all, we should learn from mistakes and this was a grave one. Oh, I should mention, this was his sole free pass. He is to abide by our previous agreement as I won't stop Hermione next time."

Bella flashed a grin, grasped Fenrir's arm, and then apparated away.

Narcissa looked to Hermione, noting her trembling in silence. Then she glanced at the empty space where the banister had been. "I don't suppose you can put it back for me."

It was a wave of the wand, a spoken repairing incantation, and the banister resettled almost like new; except, a portion of it was silver, and blood dripped from one of the bars.

Well. It would be an object reminder. Useful, for the moment.

"Let's go to our rooms."

- HP -

Their rooms. Narcissa hardly even needed to ask. This time it was Hermione who clasped her hand and all but dragged her. The door opened with a wave of a wand, closed with the same. The blonde wasn't even sure that Hermione was aware that she hadn't said a word. Her focus was so total.

As soon they had privacy, Hermione turned to face Narcissa, that same determined gaze on her face. Her wand was pointed at her mate, but then her arm dropped down. She closed her eyes, still trembling. "Too many clothes, Cissy."

"Let me."

A word and a flick of the wrist and they were both nude before one another. Hermione expelled a breath of relief and opened eyes gone dark with need. She gazed at her mate with an indelicate hunger and then cast her glance about, and suddenly was aware that they had more choices. "The elves have been busy."

"It seemed appropriate." The brunette wasn't the only one staring. The older woman took in the vision of the younger, letting her gaze trail hungrily over the form. She'd seen the furniture of her abode before.

"Cissy... If you don't lead, I will." The blonde shivered at the younger woman's tone. "I need you."

"Then have me." It was taunt and promise and surrender all rolled into one delirious phrase. Hermione struck forward, like a snake, needing no further invitation, and grasped Narcissa to her, bending the taller woman into a soul-searing kiss. Then, as if she'd memorized the layout of the room and still holding her firmly, she bustled the blonde around the room in near dance-like moves. They didn't stop until Cissy felt the back of her legs press against a soft rolled arm of the couch. Hermione still held the wand and she felt it tap and roll with the younger woman's touch, not exactly forgotten, but also, not surrendered yet.

Well, she could see Hermione's point. The bed really was too far away. Perhaps they ought to plan for such days and make a port...

Narcissa was kissed senseless again. Hermione's hands roved her skin hungrily. When the kiss slowed, the younger woman's mouth slid along her jaw and her neck and then she pulled back and redirected the blonde to the seat of the couch.

Well, maybe they didn't need a portkey after all.

"Wand?"

Narcissa grinned, surrendering hers and, while Hermione allowed her free and wasn't looking at her, so she could place their wands on a small table, the blonde settled back more fully. She sat back, letting her legs spread akimbo, putting her feet flat to the floor. She draped her arms across the back of the couch and curled her lips into a smirk, knowing that the deliberate display would provoke Hermione.

She watched with a hungry smile as the younger woman turned back and her expression glazed with desire. Then she nearly laughed with triumph as Hermione pounced, sliding between her legs, kneeling before her without any need for summons. Strong arms hooked around her thighs, partially lifting her, pulling her. One of her legs draped around one of Hermione's shoulders. The younger woman leaned in and gentle fingertips slid along the delicate wet seam of Narcissa's desire. They played in the curls, stroking lightly before sliding in to part her and reveal what Hermione sought. The younger woman licked her lips as she took in the flushed rose before her. She deliberately inhaled, inducing a hum of pleasure. She glanced up at Narcissa, smiled, and then dipped her head, laving her tongue along the silky folds until she arrived at the prominent bud. She groaned with the taste, flicking her tongue in rapid pulses and then swirling it, before dragging it into her mouth and sucking.

Narcissa, keened as she clenched and opened in receptivity, rolling back and thrusting her hips up for closer contact. Hermione tongue drove down then, sliding at the nonverbal command. The brunette's fingertips caressed Cissy, taking over where her talented tongue had been. And then, she was inside, her tongue pressing and dipping, sliding in and out, drinking. She growled her hunger, drank up her mate. Groaned with pleasure and relief.

Narcissa, with her back up against the backrest on the couch, drew her hands to herself, sliding them across her own breasts to soothe powerfully aching nipples, which only stiffened them more. One hand drove down, and she grasped Hermione at the top of her head, threading her fingers through the thick brown hair. It wasn't to guide her. She just needed the contact. Her hips rolled and bucked, pushing with each invasion, each delicious sensation calling forth the deeper pulse of pleasure.

Hermione wasted no time, had no inclination to deny her mate pleasure, in fact, she wanted her to sing out. She had so many needs, but this soothed and thrilled her, redirected that fire. Plus, the extraordinary taste of her mate, the flavor that was just her, spread light through Hermione's veins, heat through her loins. She wanted more, needed it and that more she could feel rising, as Narcissa fluttered around her tongue, clenched her tightly, wrapped her legs around her as if she intended to draw her mate in.

She bent her will to it, summoning her mate up and higher, calling her.

She had been ready, so ready for this, the day had been so long and the need so fierce. Narcissa lit, finally screaming her release, which Hermione drank up and claimed and then spun around again and again. Until Narcissa called her up, begged her to rise and rest. Hermione, however, wasn't exactly interested in rest, but she had always been sensitive to Narcissa's needs. She claimed her mate's lips, warmed them with her own moist response. Drew Narcissa's hips to her own, pressing lightly and just held her for awhile.

- HP -

Narcissa had a few reasons for the nickname she'd bestowed upon Hermione. It wasn't just her adventurousness or her seemingly endless supply of energy once started, but there were aspects to her that had been profoundly adjusted, either through her experience with Bella, her healing by the elves, and-or the bonding. The Lady of the Manor suspected that they had not encountered all of the changes writ in either of them, though both had noticed with some amusement that Hermione had what might be called an enhanced verbal vocabulary. The most instantly noticeable were the fact that she, a magical human girl, growled and she purred; and both had tones that were solely for Narcissa. Hermione could set her alight, make her wet and receptive, with the right sound, at the right time.

Then again, Narcissa, apparently had a similar, if not exactly the same quality of voice for Hermione. Her own tone of voice had taken on a new sultriness, a near siren effect that could pull the younger woman to her or pull her back from the brink. She too had a purr, and it cloaked her words with a heat that sometimes scorched them both.

Hermione was also, well, pain resistant wasn't the word, but when Narcissa scored her back with her fingernails, all it seemed to do was push the younger woman to the edge. She took love bites without so much as a quiver of shock, but rose to them and delivered them back with very careful applications of her teeth. Narcissa thus, had managed to mark Hermione at least twice, blooding her, and all it did was set fire in her eyes and remind Narcissa that she'd better be prepared for the consequences.

Another reason for the name was even more transparent, at least to the one who knew about it, than Hermione's insatiable stamina and her trick voice. It was something that Narcissa found herself delighting in, more and more, and now she wondered if she had indeed missed it, but had gone into denial. Survival made people do funny things. But as Narcissa bent over the desk in the study, palms flat to the surface, legs spread wide with Hermione's hands on her hips, thrusting that wonderful thick staff with gorgeous talent, driving and plunging deep inside, she had to consider, yet again and with profoundest pleasure, that Beast was the most apt description.

That, however, wasn't all. Over the course of their short time together, Narcissa had come to the conclusion that Hermione had to know some form of wandless magic. She certainly used it and to amazing effect. Either that, or the girl had an impossible reach that managed to touch multiple places at once. This aspect became particularly clear earlier when she'd felt caresses at the back of her knees, while Hermione's hands had definitely been in contact with other portions of her anatomy.

Even now, she felt those ghost touches, some firm, some soft, all seductive and hitting the high points. She knew both hands were on her hips, and the girl's feet were where she could see them (when she bent over enough to look), but she felt those same hands tweaking her nipples, caressing her sides, gliding along the sensitive insides of her thighs, and stirring an even sweeter point; making her gasp and quicken. She was frankly amazed, given how stimulating it was, that Hermione had not thought to use it on her while they were out.

Or maybe, she just hadn't realized…

It seemed impossible, but… She felt a particularly fantastic caress and then, distraction disappeared and her rapidly random ability to analyze went completely south and gone. She began to chant Hermione's name, intending to finish the thought, but she found herself in a loop of pleasure, one that rose and rose.

She felt Hermione's lips slide along her back, her shoulders. Narcissa reared back and the kiss extended up, catching the nook between neck and jawline. She heard a fierce whisper, "Mine. Cissy. Mine." It went jagged at the end, torn from Hermione's mouth as the final height was reached. She felt her mate pulse and spill hotly within with a powerful rush and Narcissa clenched and crested as she was filled and filled some more.

The blonde reached behind, looping around Hermione with her arm, even as she pushed herself back against the younger woman with a strength that would have surprised anyone else, but only made her lover happily crazy, "Yes. Hermione. Mine."

The song spiraled through them both, spectacularly, as they claimed each other; knowing the truth of their bond. All of her. Always hers.

- HP -


	8. Chapter 8

HP: The Good Side of Black pt. 8

"Get up, Beast." The command was softly given, purred even. It wasn't necessary to wake her Hermione, as the girl was preternaturally aware of her environment; another of those consequences. The scholar had been aware of Bella's knock before it even happened and had awakened with the wand in her hand. She had only settled back down, laying flat on her stomach as she had been, spread out, though missing the body she'd clasped, to otherwise remain as she was where they'd lain and slept because Cissy had asked her to stay.

It was a form of trust that she had. And for a moment Narcissa wondered how Hermione would take the choice she'd made. She hoped the trust remained.

They had been on the multi-pillowed floor of the suite's open room, comfortably wrapped around each other, and covered nominally by a blanket, which neither had drawn up when they'd finally given in to sleep. Bless the Elves of her household. Narcissa might have believed in and enjoyed her righteous right to supremacy, but it didn't mean she didn't appreciate good and caring service when given; especially when it was for what was hers. "We have a guest." Her voice was still soft, gentle. She laid her hand on Hermione's wild mane of hair, stroking it like a pet. "Go get freshened and come back out to join us for breakfast."

It wasn't until Hermione rolled and sat up and the blanket fell, that Narcissa realized she, herself, might have had an ulterior motivation. The girl's back and side was raw with nail scratches. On the wide muscle of her shoulder was a deep, bruising bite mark. As she rose to stand, stretching like a cat, there were scrapes along her thighs, her hips…

Narcissa was, at that moment, hard pressed not to blush. She had put on a sleep robe as a habit before visitors, disguising the love-marks she had acquired throughout the night, and wasn't it interesting to note that a robe was sufficient, but Narcissa had not given Hermione a chance for such grace. She realized a part of her meant for her sister to see this, that she had marked her territory and claimed it, and she meant for Hermione to draw close, where Bella could observe how the younger woman moved without haste, just so she could brush against Narcissa like a feline, not quite curling around her like she would if they were alone, but enough of a hint that it was obvious, before passing by.

She turned, watching the young woman walk without any sense of abashment, but with languid purpose toward and then past the other witch in the room. She paused only long enough to say, almost pleasantly, "Bella," and then moved on, graceful and muscular and lean, but full breasted, full-hipped. The mark of Black upon her right arm. Confident, but not stupidly so; but then, Hermione had never been stupid. Just caught.

Narcissa experienced a moment of premonition, knew there would be other marks, not of a bond, but something other. Perhaps Hermione would claim her skin again, make something new of herself. If so, Narcissa would support her in it.

She took Narcissa's breath away.

Bella watched, at first with a slight gawp until Hermione entered the bedroom and disappeared from view, and then, her expression became pensive, riddled with a bafflement as if there was something she meant to put her finger on, but couldn't quite. "What did you do to her, Cissy?"

They had this conversation, but sometimes Bella needed to hear things more than once in more than one way. It was the result of the screams she constantly heard in her head; her own, Cissy had become convinced. She thought perhaps the reason Bella did what she did to others was to find something louder, something that would quiet that ever present inner-howl. "What needed doing."

She thought then, briefly, about what still needed doing. She missed her sister. One thing about living a life that had both had and not had the Dark Lord in it, she'd gained certain perspectives about which was better and had time to think many things through. Not the least of which, was what had happened to her sister.

Bella had never been entirely predictable. Nor had she been a blithe heart. But she had been smart and fun, and she had been an adventurous and bright girl, willing to try almost anything once. Narcissa's memories regarding her sister, before her fall, were warm and good.

They had been a normal wizarding family, if a touch arrogant, but that was the case for any kind of nobility, muggle or wizard. They contributed to charities, attended the social functions, invested in small business and supported their school. They were raised with certain beliefs, but had opportunity to investigate for themselves, to hone their own skills, to work toward a life that fulfilled them.

Except for the arranged marriages, their lives were fairly modern and one that was, if not typical, was not in the least unusual.

To Narcissa's mind, Rodolphus Lestrange had much to answer for; but there had never been an apt time for revenge and she'd not wanted to hurt or provoke her sister even more than she already had been. Like herself, Bella's marriage had been arranged. Unlike her marriage, however, which had been amicable and even loving, her darker sister's marriage had been surface calm, but personally combative. People attributed it to passion. She attributed it to malice.

Rodolphus wanted children or said he did. After all, that was the supposed reason for the marriages. Unless one included the sizable dowry.

However, rather than give Bella a civil divorce after she failed to conceive in the time frame he wished, or claimed he wished, he kept her embattled, with herself, with himself, for years, until they found the common cause in Voldemort, who used their twisted relationship and insinuated himself between them. Narcissa would have been grateful if he'd actually stopped there. But no, he went on, claiming Bella's loyalty, marking her as his while she her mind was so terribly grieved. Added to that he somehow combined with Rodolphus' extremism with the usual wizard supremacy sentiment and caution that most wizards possessed regarding muggles and raised it higher. All while telling Bella how much he loved her, wanted her, needed her. His was a seduction of darkness and then that man ended up breaking Bella further down the road, by letting her get involved in all that dark, nasty business of trying to build an empire for himself.

Worse, the mark that Bella and Lucius carried because of that pursuit promised much more than just mere injury, which Narcissa found difficult to forgive; and in fact, had not. Lucius, however, joined in full health and mind and knowing her issue with it. Bella, however... They'd never talked about that night, and the why. Narcissa had simply guessed; just as she knew her son had no choice on whether he was getting one. His only choices had to do with how he acted after receiving it and what she could do to modify his chances. Just like Bella. And the fact that Bella had risen in the ranks, because she was a brilliant wizard in her own right... well, that was survival too; so very darkly shaded. After all, why would Voldemort ever kill his right hand. Wound and maim, yes...

Perhaps Narcissa was judging the situation incorrectly, but... she knew Rodolphus. Knew he switched Bella's potions and played games of spite and mind. She half expected, half believed, that it was his fault that Bella had never caught with child. No, she knew, though she couldn't prove it. Just as she knew the condition of Bella's mind had started before her stay in the prison. Rodolphus claimed he liked her wild. He'd say it with a feral grin, while they plotted and planned in their meetings; even though now, thank Merlin, Bella had nothing to do with him.

Well, he had his desire then, for Bella was a wild thing, except when she wasn't. Right now all she could do, while Bella stayed in her house, was guard her food, and order the elves not to let Rodolphus touch it, and ward Bella's rooms to keep him from finding them. That was minor fix, the damage to her sister ran deep, but she could keep some of it from going deeper.

Narcissa loathed Rodolphus, though she smiled to his face and behaved as carefully as ever around him. After all, there were appearances to keep up. But if she ruled, his would be the first head on a pike.

And then there was Azkaban. It was the one great flaw in the idea of wizardly superiority and poked holes in the notion they were better. Her people were wizards and they couldn't figure anything better to do than lock people away like muggles. Or rather, they improved on the worst the muggles could do, hedging darkness around with a creature so dangerous that its nickname was soul-eater. And they left her sister there for years and years, which damaged her by layers.

She hated that prison almost as much as she hated Vo…

Best not to dwell. Best not to think of it. No need to attract trouble, as there was enough.

Long, hard, strong habit helped her to back away from the thought, to keep the smile aligned with truth in her eyes and a touch of Occlumency. No need for anyone to pick up her thoughts. The only one she allowed the privilege was Hermione, whose ties permitted her trust. Narcissa calmed herself and remembered that mostly, at the moment, she was glad she'd been able to keep her sister in her own suite at an opposite floor and end from the miscreant spouse. Narcissa had claimed propriety, because, after all, she had her own suite away from Lucius, but it was really about protection. Bella was loose canon enough without Rodolphus starting in on her.

She had a right to protect her sister, especially in her own house. And she had the will and the means. And, after the bonding, now she had more. But she also knew that it was half as likely that she'd never get her back; not the way she was and not the way she could have been. This also gave her moments of frothing rage.

A pike was too good for Rodolphus. He needed to fester. As did certain other persons.

And then, there was Andromeda, who had married someone not of her father's choosing, had been cast out. The accepted reason was that she married a muggle-born mage, the real reason was her defiance, which had stoked the fire of her parents ire because it had been so... unexpected and words got said, like they often do in such situations. It was partly Andromeda's fault for just dropping on them like that. She didn't let them get used to the idea, because it would have been work. Father was very outspoken. So, she behaved unlike herself, from their perspective, and yet... she had been in love; or rather, thinking back on it, it had been as if her younger sister had been called to Ted Tonks. Drawn to him so strongly it might as well have been love and it gave her the strength to do what she had to do.

Magic calling magic. Just like those family history books said. She now wondered if either her mother or father ever read them. Somehow she doubted. If they had... perhaps things might have been different.

But it didn't change that Andromeda had been pitched into the cold and their contact broken. And by the time it was all done... well, Andromeda had been angry too and had folded herself into the muggle world so completely it was like she disappeared. It was hard to come back from that kind of hurt, that kind of anger; hard for anyone. And her family, the Blacks, had pride. So very much of it.

But she missed her sister.

She missed both of them. She was the youngest and wanted her older sisters back. She would get them back. As soon as Hermione had become hers, she'd known she would at least try. It was time; time to reclaim the power of the Blacks.

She extended her hand, not knowing if her dangerous, dementored-afflicted, sister would take it. Bella looked at her and then at her hand, finally reaching back.

"What would you like for breakfast today, Bella?"

- HP -

"You're going to let her eat all that?" Bella watched in bemusement as Hermione Granger, the young woman known for her fastidiousness, prudishness and inherent intellectual snobbery, powered through a hardy breakfast of eggs, hashbrowns, bacon, juice, water, a splash of milk and cinnamon oatmeal and raisins. Once again, the young woman was dressed in a fashionable suit, of black, with her hair only slightly wild, but otherwise lovely and groomed. She had portions of her suit covered protectively. She ate like a champion, like she hadn't eaten in…

Oh.

Well.

There was that.

It had, after all, only been nominally a few days since the girl had begun again to eat "properly," but still for a person who had barely touched what was offered previously, to see a supposedly delicate young woman shoveling down a plateful of food without any sense of discomfort was a fairly awe inspiring.

On the other hand, she wasn't really rude about it, merely very, very focused.

"She needs her energy." Again, there was that purr, which sent an odd shiver up Bella's spine. Or maybe it was the hawkish look her sister had turned upon Hermione, as if, once the girl finished her meal, she might find herself being Narcissa's.

Oh.

Right.

Narcissa was also prone to doggedly pursuing something once she committed.

Bella did not blush, as she never blushed, but she did have a moment of blinking. She rallied. "I take it the polyjuice has come in handy? Do you need more?"

"We have sufficient, thank you, Bella. We've arrived at a secondary means of achieving what is needed. But we'll ask for more if needed."

Right. Bella glanced back at Hermione, who had just dropped her fork, temporarily, and had reached for a napkin. She wiped pink lips genteelly, and then, grabbed her glass of juice and guzzled it down like a trooper.

"Did you have any plans," of which she should be aware… Yesterday had been a bit of a surprise.

"Today is Hermione's first day of homeschooling. We are expecting several new tutors over the course of the week. I sent you the schedule. Did you get it?"

"You were serious." Bella did not mention the absolutely hearty laugh and cackle she'd had when she'd read the list, not formed as a request, of course, as this was Narcissa's mansion, but that she fully expected some of these wizards to be let into the mansion…

"I was. However, I recognize that some of the choices of tutors might have come under question. I waited for your reply." Nominally. For about five minutes, before returning back to Hermione. It had been a rather on the fly decision, but she hadn't wanted accidental shots fired when someone approached the gate.

Was she seriously having this conversation with her sister. Bella was not all battle and scream, but it did not do to test her. She narrowed her gaze at Cissy, as she knew that her sister was not all pretty socialite, either. It was a plot, but what kind and who would it benefit in the long run?

"But you want to tutor this mudblood…"

Narcissa's expression suddenly cooled, a mask of hauteur, which chilled the room. "I want her taught properly, as it has become obvious to me that Hogwart's resources were limited in regards to her. I want to insure that what is mine gives me the full value of her potential."

Ah, a logical reason, then. Well, Bella could grasp it from that end.

Hermione picked up her fork again, and jammed it into what was left of the hash browns and then tucked in, as if the discussion had nothing at all to do with her or was so the least of her worries that she might as well not fidget about it. Bella remembered the sound of her screams, which at the time were delicious, but now was muted by something intangible and strange. "Value. You believe this woman is of value."

"You thought she was. Enough to give her to me. Shall I ignore your gift?" Cissy knew one thing about her sister, and it was this; if she meant to kill someone, she did it. She knew then, that, even if Bellatrix hadn't thought the why of it out yet, she had preserved Hermione for a reason. Whatever that might be; even if it were magic seeking its mate and moving the world to find it.

The darker wizard blinked. Well, when it was put like that… one could hardly answer no. Bella waved her hand, realizing her morning tea was getting cold. She lifted the cup and took a sip. "Do what you want, but I can't just have these… people… traipsing about."

"The manor is very large, as are its grounds. The tutors will not all come at the same time. They will be met at the gate by a house elf assigned to assist. They will be transported directly from the gate to rooms I will set aside for her schooling, well away from the areas of the manor that you and the others have appropriated. As the tutor will be confined to their area while they are here, the house elf will retrieve any necessary items, be it books from the main library or foods from the kitchen. Unless someone invades those rooms for their own purpose, there is no reason for the tutor to know of other persons in manor, much less who and what they are. When instructions require them to be one the grounds outside, the house elf will ensure that they do not see what should not be seen. You may pick the house elf, but do not pick one that is too vocal of what others speak of in these walls, and I will even instruct it to report all doings back to you once the tutor leaves. Hermione, of course, will have free access, as this is where she lives."

"A guard, someone I choose, will meet them at the gate and escort them back. The house elf may guide them anywhere, but not to any room occupied by myself and my people. They can not come when my Lord is here, unless he specifically permits it. If they are not one of us, I insist upon Obliviation previous to their exit from this manor. More, they will be searched for notes and gifts."

"A guard, dear sister, would merely exacerbate the rumors that we now suffer. If the tutor does not see anyone out of the ordinary, then there is nothing to tell. As for Obliviation, they will need those memories, for their future lessons. As I stated before, the tutors will not have access to any part of the house, other than the training rooms."

Bella didn't physically display being startled, but she had been surprised when Hermione offered, "Why not just hex the gate with an empty pockets spell. A good programming of a spell can set it to go off on specific individuals, amplify so that any extra goods carried in or out are revealed, and if you are really feeling persnickety, it can dump permitted items on one side of the gate and non-permitted items on the other. If it were me, though, I wouldn't bother. If they mean to talk to me, they will. If not, they won't. Why keep it a secret? No one knows where Harry is. And if your concern is that they'll somehow manage to break in, well, restructure the wards so anyone on the list gets bounced if they arrive at non-scheduled times, as well as anyone who does not belong here."

The dark wizard turned and stared at Hermione as if she'd grown three heads and she was deciding which to yell at first. She was about to start in a rant about '… if we wanted your opinion…' but she was interrupted before she could start.

"Excellent suggestion, Hermione. We shall take it into consideration." Narcissa said, warmly. "Perhaps you might scribe the spells in order, for me. I'd like to at least peruse them, even if we don't' use them."

"As you wish, Narcissa." Hermione glanced at Bella, as she continued, "Your safety is very important to me."

"Of course it is," snapped Bella, "As it is to me. Which brings me to, why neither of you spoke of this idea to me previously."

"I did mention I was going to Hogwarts yesterday..." Cissy pointed out gently, pouring a fresher of tea into Bella's cup and then her own. She offered to Hermione, who shook her head lightly. Her cup was still full. Cissy set the pot down.

"Well yes, but..."

"And you've never expressed an interest in the education of either Draco or Hermione before."

"Well, naturally not the mu…"

"I would appreciate it if you would not refer to my Hermione as a mudblood in this house, while we are all alone. I understand you have appearances to keep, as does Hermione, but really, can't we drop it while it's just us? Especially at the meals."

"You always were difficult about the name-calling."

"Because it is rude and unnecessary."

Bella grabbed a piece of toast from off Hermione's plate, scraped some butter on it and pointed it at Cissy. She ignored Hermione's outraged glance. The girl had plenty to eat. "It's psychological warfare, a common tactic and amazingly effective. If the word works, then it gets used. Riled adversaries are distracted adversaries. Also, it breaks down the status in the minds of the target and others, which makes our agenda easier to introduce as a concept later." She then crunched down on the toast with an evil expression on her face, as if she were forcing the toast into submission. Or perhaps it was a response to Hermione's suddenly gobsmacked appearance, as if she'd had an epiphany.

"Of course. You don't even have to mean it and it would work. The flaw is that the name calling causes those with an opposite agenda to seek each other out and defend themselves. If there is enough resistance, it becomes a useless ploy, as it actually inspires the opposite response in the target and those particular others, but it depends on the dominant current psychology of its audience. Also, most people use those words without thought, having no agenda except a subconscious adaptation of the concept. It's an emotional shortcut, incorrect concept on pretty much all sides from a logical point of view, but encompasses a particular attitude so thoroughly that just one day it pops out of their mouth. Thus simple designations, muggle and muggle magic-born becomes mudblood." Hermione was not looking at anyone when she said this, and the food was still on her fork. Then she shook her head. "Horrible. But canny. Still doesn't make it right, as it's logically and rationally inconsistent with facts." She finished her bite.

"Right has nothing to do with it and it depends entirely upon the facts being argued." Despite herself, Bella was impressed.

Even as Bellatrix said this, Cissy did not cede territory. If she could get her to commit, it would be a step in a better direction for all of them. "I mean it, Bella. I plan on taking her everywhere with me for the foreseeable future. It's a necessity. I would like at least one place where..."

"Fine. But this brings me back to what I was saying, your safety. We need to go over the list again. It is simply impractical to expect me to let McGonnigal into this house, while … we are at opposition."

"I asked for her because she happens to hold Hermione in high esteem and I thought it might be handy to have an inside perspective now and then." The blonde said evenly, even with a smile. Bella considered and nodded at the point with a hum. "I've invited her for tea. I have set a date at the Flower Tower Tea House. You're welcome to come if you'd like."

"Cissy! As if she wouldn't hex me right out the tea shop. I am the great and horrible Bellatrix, after all. Did you put something in my food? I feel positively calm right now. It's going to distress my people. They'll be constantly looking for me to explode. On the other hand, all that chinaware being blasted to smithereens." A sly, content smile crossed Bella's expression as she imagined the shattering and the shouts.

"No. I haven't. Though I have been tempted." Narcissa looked at Bella. She was on the uptick of a moodswing, near center. It was always such a pleasant surprise to catch her like this, where she was almost... almost her old self and it was so easy to forget the danger; not that she ever did. Even now she had her wand by her plate. She wished Bella's smoother days happened more often, was working toward it. She was, after all serious about the temptation, but she suspected she would need a real healer to see Bella before making that attempt. "I could start if you'd like."

"Hah!"

Narcissa noted it wasn't a no. Interesting. "I happen to like that tea house. They are very exclusive."

"And yet you will probably take …her," Bella cocked her thumb at Hermione.

"It will be good for her. She needs dipping into the culture, to understand the society of which she is to be part."

"A part... I suppose from a sideways angle, you might be right. She's yours as you say and going to be seen a lot by others, I suppose."

"The tea shop is as good a place to begin as anywhere else. And while Hogwarts teaches the basics of magic, it does not teach other things, which I will find useful for Hermione."

"It would be something to see Minerva's expression if I showed up, but she casts a mean hex. I don't think I want to deal with her just yet. Though I'm up for a good duel any day." Bella wiped her lips and hands, "It doesn't matter. I have things to do anyhow. Mu... Hermione, are you very sure you don't know where Potter is?"

"Harry is definitely not here, nor at Hogwarts, nor at anyone's home." Hermione said. Her plate was empty and she was finally drinking her tea. "If I say more I'll just offend you and that will make Cissy irritated with us both, for busting up what's left of breakfast."

"Why that narrows it down to the whole world. Thank you so much." Bella's eyes were sharper than her words as she threw down the napkin, but her expression was oddly... amused.

"Ever so welcome." Hermione snarked right on back as she sipped her tea and let out a sigh of contentment.

- HP -

An explosive burst of power from Hermione's wand sailed at the target her tutor had assigned and then hit, blasting the massive stone into pebbles and dust. The pillar that belonged to a hedging wall was completely gone, as was the smaller painted target that had been pasted on it. The tutor, who had been standing perhaps a little too close, stared at the young woman with a dazed and fresh dirt bath expression. Hermione pressed her hand to her mouth, eyes wide, emotions appalled. "Oh dear! Oh. Professor Blinks. I am so sorry. I had no idea it would be... Normally it fires exactly … I've never had my wand go that south before..."

The professor, a compromise choice between Bella and Narcissa for arts of war instruction was a small man, short brown hair, balding at the top, with wireframe glasses that did not quite hide bright green eyes, pale skin, wearing a brown tweed suit covered by a black scholar-wizard's robe. He was also very good at what he did, naturally. He simply hadn't been prepared for Hermione to be good at what she did. Or, in this case, extremely powerful.

The professor, not oblivious to the apologies, but slightly occupied with waving the smoke-like wafts of dust away, said, "We will check your wand. It is possible that it needs to be retuned. Lady Malfoy mentioned that you might be experiencing growth spurts."

Hermione's brows rose. That was one way to put it. She was well aware that previous to the changes in her life she would not have been able to transfigure the many iron bars of the stairwell so eloquently, but she had honestly thought it had been a temper burst. Now, she truly wondered.

Come to think of it, perhaps Cissy ought to be checking her own wand. Her bondmate had been using her wand, but really only for the mundane tasks. They had both been through the bonding, both been poured through by magic in its most uninhibited form.

It wouldn't just be her who had been changed.

Perhaps they needed to go back to Gringotts and Ollivander for Narcissa.

"Mistress Black! If I might have your attention."

Hermione's attention shifted towards the professor. "Beg pardon, professor."

"Every battle has its unexpected outcomes, it's unexpected distractions. But you must remain focused." He tapped his left hand with a wand.

"Yes sir."

He waved his wand; incanted. The structure that had been there before could not be repaired, so thorough was the damage, but he created a new thing, a stronger target made of stone and metal. "Now. We will try again, and as we have not yet tuned your instrument, we shall simply try for control." He glared at the world, not just at Hermione, and then strolled to what he considered a safe distance to the side. He shouted, "Begin!"

- HP -

By the end of the training session both of Hermione's arms ached and felt weighted like lead. Her back, stomach and thighs felt as if she had been heavy lifting, which, perhaps she had been, given how much effort she'd had to put into controlling the power of the casts. He'd made her switch hands, which no other professor had insisted upon, not even Headmaster Snape. But having listened to Professor Blinks' argument and having lived on the edge for several months, she was convinced of his rightness in the matter. Handedness in casting was a habit that needed breaking. Besides she found that while she'd never before considered herself ambidextrous, having not tried it actually, she was fairly apt. Not marvelously so, as her attempts at using her oppositional hand often had very unfortunate misfires, which only led to the professor standing even farther away and using the sonorous spell to amplify his commands, but she decided she would practice until she could cast with either hand, just as she'd been practicing silent casting as soon as she'd understood the concept.

They still hadn't tuned the wand and it felt constantly hot in her hand, tempting her to blow on it to cool it off. She didn't as that would be silly. But she had to admit she was impressed, as she'd not truly appreciated before its make and sturdiness.

When Narcissa arrived with the house elf that would return the professor to the gates, the professor mentioned the need. The blond had imperiously said she would see to it and everyone knew that the matter was settled, whether anyone wanted to argue or not. No one argued.

- HP -

**  
**


	9. Chapter 9

HP: The Good Side of Black pt. 9

Malfoy Manor, like the entire wizarding world and a good portion of Britain, had been afflicted by a seeming everlasting cloudiness and gloom due to the reanimation of the Dark Lord and his ways. Not that there weren't sunny days, but even those had a spookier cast to them. Hermione was reminded that in her travels with Ron and Harry, the farther from Voldemort's influence, the lighter things seemed. Narcissa had been serious and Bella had known quite well that the manor lands were sizable, surrounded by green trees, a tended lawn and wildland

It perhaps spoke to the Malfoy's power, or simply Narcissa's, that even with negative presence of the Dark Lord himself, the Manor lands had a brightness to them, but it was artificial, an inducement of light cast from the constant efforts of the elves. If it were not for them, it was possible that the green grounds, which had not been scorched by Hermione's efforts, would have been much, much greyer and the wildlife, which had not been scared away by all the magical blasting, would have been much scarcer.

The garden maze, where Professor Blinks had chosen to conduct his session, at least from where Narcissa stood, had been explosively deconstructed by Hermione's efforts; both intentionally and unintentionally. It was now much less greener and definitely more charcoal. She considered docking his pay, then decided against it. Some things were worth the price.

"It's going to take time to grow all that back." Cissy and Hermione stood at a small distance from each other; one that was appropriate, technically, to a certain station.

Hermione could give two shits about that station at the moment, but she did feel a little bit bad about the hedge. It had been beautiful, and despite the professor's criticisms of Hermione's aptitude and skill, he had seemed to get a thrill from the destruction. She had no doubt it was an attempt to take down the great Malfoy estate a peg or two, even symbolically. And, admittedly, a part of her enjoyed simply blasting things away, as there was a definite catharsis to the experience. But that wasn't even her true distraction. Even pained as she was, she wanted to grab Narcissa and take her behind what was left of some of those hedges for a meaningful and thorough round of touching and loving and definite in-your-spaceness, with an emphasis, perhaps, on fertility plowing rites.

However, as the grounds of the Manor were no doubt under surveillance, by any number of parties, ministry, order, death eater or even simple paparazzi style journalists, she was obliged to hold back her most urgent necessities. Her passionate gaze might be taken for anger by ignorant parties, as at the moment it was composed of a nearly impolite stare.

The only one who heard her low, rumbling purr was the woman standing across from her.

"He has fired you up." Narcissa said this with her cool, icy aristocratic mask firmly in place.

Hermione's nostrils flared. Her lips twisted in a sardonic smile. "He could never get me fired up."

Blue eyes flashed and a near smile flickered across the blonde's face. She stepped closer, reaching out to run her hand through Hermione's hair; ostensibly to remove an object, which must have been so minuscule as to be only observable by the Lady of the House. "Your next tutoring session is in a half hour. Also, you will be pleased to know that the library in the suite now has texts related to your studies, as well as items I thought might be of interest to you. If you have any special requests, you are welcome to ask one of the house elves or myself, or access the main library proper. Remind me, Beast, to give you a proper tour of the manor. I have been lax."

Hermione offered her the most innocent look, "I would say it's more a case of busy, Lady Malfoy." And oh, how she would like to add to the woman's tally.

Narcissa's lips curled very briefly into a tiger's smile, but she offered no more commentary as she was resisting her own urges. Then, with a swish of her skirts, she turned, striding elegantly away.

Hermione bit her lower lip and then, because she could, she hastened after her.

- HP -

Later that night, Hermione was doing her recently demoted to second favorite thing, in the suite library. She was curled up on one of the beautiful overstuffed chairs, feet tucked in under her and ancient magical tome hovering at just the right angle so she could reach and turn pages with her fingertips. Beside her on an end table was a stack of books, some still open, a half full glass of juice and cake crumbs on a plate, long forgotten. She held her wand in one hand, lazily twirling it between her fingers, an unconscious kinetic memory tool, and she rested quite comfortably against the backrest. She was still dressed, save for her shoes and jacket and a few undone buttons.

Even in this relaxed state, she was alert. She had come recently to recognize not just the noises and motions of everything around her, but the magical feel of it too. She could sense the magic, both as a kind of "flavor," to the air around her and as a visual. For instance, she was aware of the swirl of colors and textures around her wand, gold and coppery wood with sparkles in it. She'd never noticed it before. Nor had it occurred to her to speak about it with her mate, as a part of her subconscious simply accepted that this new ability was as natural as breathing to Hermione.

The tome was flavored like an aged wine, sweeter than one might expect, but also full and potent. It felt a kind of crimson, but not blood-like, though she'd sensed blood had been spilled on it before, but if one were to go by title alone, she would have expected nothing except dark and heavy auras. In a strange way, the tome of Ancient Thaumaturgic Casting which was a fancy way of saying centuries-old wandless spells, none of which had any sort of categorical marking such as "dark" or "light" or even "neutral", was exactly the kind of book she needed right then. It was the type normally locked up at Hogwarts's library, tucked in a far-from-searching-hands corner, and very fascinating technical reading; at least for her. She lived for this kind of thing.

More, it was as if she could actually grasp the deeper principles behind the process, which previously had been something that, while it hadn't escaped her necessarily, had seemed quite out of reach. The reading even illuminated some of the wand processes, as well as some more arcane descriptions of how magic was thought to work; something the basic textbooks of Hogwarts classes had been supremely vague about. The school texts were either mechanical in nature, as in how-to do something or historical, as in the history of the people and magic. Very few texts actually delved into the what-is-it and how-does-it-work side of magery; and if they did, they were short on the details. It was as if most people didn't actually really want to or feel the need to know the reasons why things worked; only that they did. It was a flaw in thinking, Hermione believed; one that caused much of the wizarding world to muddle by with the rote spells they learned. The exceptions always stood out. She realized abruptly that going beyond the text was something Dumbledore nurtured in his staff and students; in her. She had always thought that it was an indulgence of her intelligence, but now she considered that perhaps he had known all along that she was not one to just read to memorize. And even now, as always, with her mind working more than one subject at once and, which those who knew her sort of grasped and those who didn't mocked, the information she learned from the text or experience became utterly her own, transfigured with her previous understanding, blending and cataloging into that very, very bright mind.

Subtly influenced by what she read and learned, her wand's random twirls took on more runic shapes, a cast circle, a symbol for power, a symbol for blessing, and a symbol for a new thing she just learned. Muggle tacticians would have called it a force multiplier. The tome simply called it a spell amplifier. In this case, a small one, but she could have made a "bigger one," had she been paying attention; after all, she'd read about that too. A casual flick of the wrist, and the library, which even in the haven of their rooms crackled with the darkness filtering from outside, subtly shifted. The lights brightened, the somber mood lifted, the colors of the wall changed from a dampened grey to a comforting blue. The flowers, which had been wilting, straightened and re-bloomed. The books rustled, as if a wind blew across the pages.

Hermione lifted her attention from the book for a few moments, gasping as she realized she quite unconsciously cast and suddenly grateful that it hadn't been one of the more meant-to-be-used-in-times-of-battle spells. That would have been truly bad, as the hedges could prove. She was gratified, however, to realize that the heaviness in the air had eased back quite a bit. She'd hardly been aware of how stifled she'd felt.

Interesting.

Hermione glanced at the clock. Cissy had mentioned that her errands might take awhile. She was not enamored of the fact that her mate was out "there" on her own, but she was aware that any say she had could only be conducted in prescribed or private circumstances. That was part of the game of survival, after all.

The young woman glanced at the book again, gauging, and decided that if her Narcissa were running on time, she had an even chance of finishing the full text. It was old and voluminous, but nobody realized how fast Hermione actually read, even the old runic texts.

Sometimes she did wonder how it was she hadn't been sorted into Ravenclaw, but she was still very proud of being a Gryffindor. After all, she did own that she could be impetuous. She was fortunate that was a quality that Narcissa happened to thoroughly enjoy about her.

- HP -

Despite Bella's assurances that she would handle Lucius, Narcissa really hadn't intended to let her do all the handling. Her sister was not currently known for her tact, nor gentleness in handling difficult news. Though, at one time...

Well, it did not do to let those memories linger. Bellatrix was what she was now and the what she could be would no doubt also be different. Narcissa's mind sifted through possibilities, futures possible, impossible, knowable or not. She wasn't looking for perfection, but rather... potential.

This was not exactly a new gift, as Narcissa had always been a woman capable of planning; just in the past she used it for the needs of social convention, of appearances, of her family.

This too was for her family, but it did mean that while she planned her way to Azkaban using modalities that were still permitted, apparition to a certain point, but requiring permission, or train and then boat, each quickened by magic, but never as quick as floo or apparition straight unto the destination, she was also thinking of what might be best. By definition going to Azkaban was a trip, one which, if she were to undertake now, required the presence of her mate, and if her mate were to accompany her, they might as well make a full day of it and visit other places after. They would need the uplift anyhow, as the great prison was more than just a dreary place. And she had reason to worry after her husband, because not everything in life was only one thing or the other.

She still had dear memories and had love for him, even if her options were indeed modified by his behavior and choices. Hermione, she knew, understood, which made it easier. She did not expect Lucius to be so understanding, but this counted as consequence; and perhaps a bit of fate.

Mentally she constructed a web of thought, an unknowing form of magic, creating an invisible tapestry. She wasn't quite ready to let Lucius go, but he could not remain at the station in her life where he had been. Hermione must be first, but the game might call for her to play second for a while; mere appearance, but subject to change as the variables altered. She would speak more with Hermione on the matter, but she already knew the girl was very clear as to the why.

It was just, the whys were changing in Narcissa and she had no intention of leaving Hermione in second place. No, she, who was hers, would have better.

With that thought firmly in mind, an equivalent of wanting to give the girl the world, Narcissa contacted her usual travel agency and made certain arrangements.

- HP -

Hermione put away the books she'd read, shelving them neatly into place. She turned to find the empty glass and plate gone, moved through the mystical processes of an aged manor; or just the house elves. She took a moment to assess herself, noting the wrinkles, char marks, and sundry evidence of the day.

A bath would do. That thought almost always made her smile. As a muggle, an ordinary, average girl she had been raised with ordinary, average bathrooms. If one were lucky there were a shower and a tub. As a wizardly child, Hogwarts had introduced her to how wizards believed a bathing experience ought to be and she'd never outgrown her delight.

The suite had two bathing rooms; one adjacent to the main bedroom and one to the room that was supposedly hers, but had never been used. That room was considered, at least by herself, as a guest room. She had yet to enter it in more than passing. The bathing room in the guest area was sybaritic. The one in connected to the main bedroom was heaven-on-earth.

The tub was really more of a round pool with seating. The water reached her shoulders when standing in the middle. One could literally swim in the bubbles, if one so desired. The water circulated, but kept its heat or coolness, depending upon the original settings chosen. At one end of the bathing pool there was a "natural" shower, where the depth of the bath altered sharply to allow standing. Hermione usually liked to get that part over with and then, soak for awhile.

These pools had a way of taking not just the aches of the day, but a good portion of the worries.

Hermione sensed her mate's arrival before her actual entry into the bathing room. She turned, just in time to see Cissy shrugging out of her robes. Now there was an ache that needed soothing and had for hours; and the cure was presently in her view. Even that was a mild relief. The black silk-like cloth slid down the lithe, curvaceous form, gracing Narcissa's pale, supple skin by its contrast. Hermione crossed her arms on the rim of the bathing pool, watching as the other woman stepped out of her robes, wand in one hand and the other hand busy liberating long blond tresses from stylish coils until it seemed as if platinum gold streamed down her back. Her hair reached just below her shoulders, moving in waves around her. Hermione watched with growing anticipation as Cissy strode forward and then sat on the rim beside the younger woman.

Hermione slid up bracing herself on her hands, until her lips met Narcissa's in a soft kiss, which gained speed and pressure, as the other woman responded. Lady Malfoy's arm slipped around Hermione, supporting her briefly. She pulled back, a smile curling warmth into her eyes. "Hello, my Beast, my Lion."

Hermione leaned, kissing Cissy's neck and shoulder. "Missed you." Her lips trailed down a little further, until she captured a coral tip with her lips and gently pressed with her teeth. Her tongue flickered over the sensitive nub, causing a gasp of pleasure.

"And I you." Narcissa lifted a hand, threading her fingertips through Hermione's thick hair as the younger woman tantalized her breast further, tugging lightly before releasing. "May I join you in the bath?"

Hermione looked up, brown eyes wide and expression filled with a tender want. "I wish you would." Taking a step back, she extended her hand.

Narcissa smiled softly as she took the hand and allowed herself to be led further into the tub, moving into the deeper water, which reached to her bosom, her other hand raised above the bubbly surface. Hermione reached for a cup outside the bath, one which already held her wand, grasped it and then held it so the blonde might deposit her wand into it. Then she set the cup just a bit away from the edge. Wands could not be hurt by water, but one did not necessarily need them while bathing. Especially not when the hands had other fun things to do.

Hermione stood away from the edge then, meeting the taller woman in the middle. Narcissa grasped her by the face, palms to cheeks, her normally icy expression set alight with passion. If the wizarding world knew how very hot Cissy could be… Hermione's thoughts on that point were dissolved as lips and bodies collided with soft ferocity. It was the older woman's leg which pressed between the brunette's legs. Hermione rocked against the insistent pressure, as Narcissa's hands drifted down to the younger woman's buttocks and guided her.

Hermione's hands busied themselves, sculpting along her lover's body, exulting in the sleek feel of her skin, the way certain parts of her pebbled at her touch; the sheer amazing responsiveness, which called to her so deeply. She let her touch extend, felt it do so, only half aware that she was since was also lost to the feelings that Narcissa was invoking in herself. She rose on the balls of her feet as she felt delicate fingertips find centerpoint, slide through intimate spaces to claim her and press deeply.

Hermione groaned and pushed back, rocking her hips. She too let a hand seek, and find, smiling in triumph when she succeeded.

"Oh. So it's going to be that way," the blonde hissed. The words were cold, but her expression was so very not.

Hermione didn't even bother with a verbal answer, as her body was doing quite well with responding.

They moved together then, starting slow and hot, pressing closely to one another. Claiming each other with those intimate touches and lover's caresses, which covered delicious territory and sparked them higher and higher until the sweet cresting wave took them both, one after the other.

As they leaned against each other, catching their breaths, hands and lips lazily exploring, Hermione grinned softly, applying kisses with a generous heart. "My baths have gotten so much better since you've been in them. My parents always did say I loved playing in the water. Care to play some more?"

Before Cissy could really reply, they both felt the pressure of change, before the sound. A cracking noise outside their suite, which carried through their warded doors. Hermione flicked a hand out in silent demand. Their wands slapped into her palm and she gave Cissy's hers.

"My, you are handy to have around," the blonde grinned, capturing a kiss for Hermione's effort.

"If only everyone thought so, my life would be so much easier."

The older woman chuckled into the kiss that followed. It might have gained fire, except that now someone was pounding at the suite door.

"Sounds like Bella."

"I was going to say feels like."

"That too. Do you mind if I invite her in?"

Hermione pulled back, gazing into her lover's eyes. "How far in?"

"Think communal bath as opposed to our own private. I will make it up to you."

Hermione looked away for a brief moment. "Do it. At least this way we both know where she is and …"

"I will protect you."

"I am not afraid."

"I know, Hermione, but it is not my wish to upset you."

The pounding became more insistent.

"It is not you who upsets me. It's… not even her really. I'll cope."

Narcissa kissed Hermione's cheek and levitated out of the pool, until she was stepping onto the floor of the bathing room, summoning a robe as she did so. It wrapped round her with a single tie. "Freshen the bath, would you darling. I shall return."

- HP -

The changes in the room were subtle, but Narcissa was immediately aware that the changes had been made as soon as she'd led Bella in. For one thing, Hermione was out of the bath, in a very skimpy and revealing robe, For the other, the bath itself had been slightly expanded, the bubbles were frothed higher and the stairs leading into the bath more apparent due to the handrails. At the side of the bath was a small deck with towels and other necessities.

Hermione did not speak, but moved toward Narcissa, who turned as if they'd choreographed this small chore often of late. The blonde shrugged out of her robes and they slid into the younger woman's hands. Hermione folded them over an arm and then stepped and turned away. A flick of the wrist and a swish of the wand and the clothing was put elsewhere.

Hermione then undid her own robe, put it away. She made sure not to look at Bella at all and thus missed the half-expectant glance in her direction when she went to slide into the water. She also missed the glare that followed, which was replaced by perplexity. Hermione stopped at the bottom bath's steps and lifted a hand, which Cissy took. As the blonde let herself be led down into the water, Bella sighed, loudly, and then shrugged out of her robes, kicking them to the side with a grumpy expression. She used her wand to take care of the rest.

By the time she entered the water, which was perfect as far as temperature, Hermione was washing her sister's back. Two wands had been placed in a cup opposite from her, and another cup sat on the edge of the pool nearer her hand. The dark wizard opted, this once, to set her wand in a holder. Act of trust and all that. Or just... she wasn't sure what it was, so much that she knew that no one present would take it or try.

The brown-eyed girl seemed very focused on her task. Then Cissy said, "That's enough, thank you."

Hermione stepped back, falling into a slight float, displaying parts of that healthy, youthful body through the bubbles, before finally taking a seat at the edge.

Narcissa dunked her self, rinsing off the younger woman's efforts. She smiled at her sister, who appeared to still be getting used to the idea of the communal bath. It had been a while, after all. Years.

Narcissa had managed to keep the shock she continued to feel at the changes in her sister's appearance from showing on her face. She was reminded of the previous morning when Bella had chided about the amount of food Hermione ate and now thoroughly wished she had pushed her sister to eat more too. Another tally of hate for that abominable place, where they hardly fed their prisoners and let wizards die in bits and pieces. Bella might no longer look skeletal and withered, beaten and bruised, powered only by what mad emotions had been left, but that was only because she'd had months of time under Narcissa's subtle care. This was, however, the first time that the older woman had let her truly see the visible, tangible effects of her incarceration. "Bella, if you'd like, let me get your back for you. You can tell us what you needed to share." Narcissa kept her offer sweet, but not saccharinely so. She did not want her sister to leave the bath just yet.

Bellatrix's eyes widened, narrowed and then softened. It was a rather fascinating change to watch. "You're not going to have the girl do it?"

Cissy kept her expression and voice light, "Not this time, Bella. You're still a little stressed and I'd hate for something … accidental … to happen. Perhaps next time, if you both feel up to it." After all, Hermione too was recovering. Though she imagined the younger woman now could see that Bellatrix was not unaffected by her own experiences. Some things had to be seen to be understood.

Bellatrix grimaced at her sister, pursed her lips and then threw another glare in Hermione's direction. "Well..."

Hermione stretched forward, something in her hand, and gave it to Cissy. The blonde lifted the soft bristled brush so the brunette could see it, as she slid the object onto her palm. "Think how good it will feel. I promise to be very gentle."

It was the tone, a promise of something long forgotten. Bella's eyes flickered between Hermione and Cissy and she fought against a flood of worst memories, none of them good and all quite traumatic. She realized then, in some sort of strange epiphany, that Cissy wasn't trying to protect Hermione from her. Nor was her sister trying to save herself. She was trying to protect Bella and the option to say no... was hers.

Anyone else speaking so softly to her, speaking so carefully, might have spun Bella into a rage for any number of reasons, not the least of which were the continually haunted memories of being "washed" and then "handled." And then there was the coddling, the sniveling chivvying up to her, which she hated.

Cissy was doing none of that.

Bella slid lower into the water, then floated toward her younger sister. She glanced over at Hermione, who looked as if she'd been slapped with a fish. This amused Bella to no end and she found herself smiling as she turned around and left herself vulnerable to throttling or a knife cut or an unexpected wand cast. None of which was going to happen here, in the safety of family. If her smile was a little twisted, well, it always was these days. "Thank you, Cissy."

- HP -


	10. Chapter 10

HP: The Good Side of Black pt. 10

Later, after Bellatrix had gone and the dark had settled like a cloak on the sky, Hermione considered what she wanted to say versus how it ought to be said. The more she knew Narcissa, the more she understood that the older woman could think five levels deep, at least. This did not mean, however, that the younger woman felt totally obliged to follow blithely along without thought herself.

They lay in bed, curled closely. Cissy reached and cupped Hermione's face, caressing her gently. "What?"

"I don't know if I can forgive her," Hermione said, surprising herself with the bluntness, though, really, that was her way.

"Ah," Cissy exhaled and she drew her lover even closer. Silence drifted between them for a moment, then she said, "Forgiveness is not necessary. I certainly don't require it."

"You don't?"

"No," Hermione's mate said gently. "You have an innate kindness and courtesy, save when you think you are the most right, that serves in its stead."

Despite herself, Hermione grinned. "Well, when I'm right..."

"Still talking, love."

"Mm."

"What I need, however, may take more strength than mere forgiving, more cunning than most ever display, and a courage that you already have."

"And you need...," Hermione led, though she could guess. She wondered, if she had a sister, if she might do the same. Actually, considering Ginny, she knew she would. So she finished, "... to save her."

"Yes." Narcissa nodded, then she sighed. "At the very least, I need to try."

-HP-

The next day dawned grey and shadowy. It had nothing to do with the interior condition of the manor, but the usual movement of the weather. Banks of fog settled outside. Cissy might have thought it related to her mood, except that aside from a few necessities, she felt lighter inside than she had in years; almost irrepressibly so.

She and Hermione dressed for the wet conditions, cloak and hood to cover their robes, and sealed boots to cover their feet. All could be whisked away with a sweep of the wand, but in a way, the extra cover suited and worked well for Cissy's plans.

They embarked on their small quest, with a few changes made by Cissy in regards to destination. Hermione trusted her and so made no offside comments, but rather played her part, enjoying the long route simply because she was with her mate. In a few hours, they arrived at one of the bleakest places on Earth.

They sensed the place far before their arrival. The prison was an old fortress, set upon a mountainous island at its topmost point. Surrounding the island was a scourge of Dementors, magical creatures of skeletal nature, robed by darkness and fiercely awful to behold. These floated about the islands, both as guards and 'hopefuls,' as their meals were made of the prisoners - their emotions and if they were very, very bad, and sentenced thus - their souls and life.

It took great will and luck to 'survive' Azkaban. It was usually, no matter how short the time assigned, a life sentence of one sort or another. No one remained unchanged by a visit there; not the prisoners, not the guards, not even the visitors.

This was not Cissy's first visitation to the Wizarding prison. She knew what to expect and had quietly coached Hermione before they had embarked on the small quest. They would not have to give up their wands, as they were not prisoners. However, as at the Ministry, the wands were not to be used without permission or order from the guards. The only instantly allowable spells from wands were the Patronus and a single emergency broadcast.

Hermione considered that it was a little odd that no one mentioned wandless magic, but kept her own council. She supposed it was assumed, but it wasn't an assumption she would have made herself.

The ship arrived, lifting out of the constantly choppy water and onto a prepared dock that would keep it from dashing against the rock. Narcissa and Hermione debarked, along with several other visitors to the dark prison. Azkaban did not forbid visitors, but it took a person imbued with an inner will and stamina to make the trek. Dementors watched hungrily, floating like baleful nightmare ghosts above and around, as the two women and other visitors debarked.

Then, like predators scenting a kill, the Dementors stilled dangerously. The air chilled even more. Frost gathered on the ground, ice broke against the ship and climbed. A dark pressure seemed to chill its way around Hermione's feet as soon as they touched ground. She marched forward, grimly determined to follow Narcissa, thinking this was normal. Of course it would be cold and bleak. The dementors trailed. If they were dogs they would have yipped with hunger. Hermione's attention wavered from her mate, turned slightly inward, as memory of other encounters with dementors gave cause to remind her of Harry, which reminded her of the last time she saw him, which reminded her of how she'd been pinned to the manor floor. She felt a pull, cold and deadly, towards those grim memories. It was so terribly strong and subtle.

Then she saw a flash of blue, heard a beloved voice gone ice and growl. "Mine!" Despite the darkness, Hermione smiled.

A light bloomed suddenly and squeals of supernatural pain broke through the air.

"So nice of you to finally do your job," Narcissa snapped.

"Beg pardon, Lady Malfoy." The guard waved his wand feebly. "Was a bit of surprise."

"Really? At Azkaban. You must be easily startled then." The guard flushed, but by then Narcissa's attention was on Hermione.

"Are you?"

"Fine. Truly. Fine." Still, even as she reassured Narcissa, Hermione wrapped her arms around herself, feeling chilled to the bone..

The blonde appeared skeptical, but kept her own counsel and turned back to the guard. Accepting a thick piece of chocolate from the guard, she gently passed it along to Hermione even as she snapped, "Well. Lead on. We haven't got all day."

So they continued, following a path surrounded by twisted, empty trees and weathered rock and ground devoid of even moss.

They entered the fortress, the body of the prison, through a gatehouse, where they were stopped, magically searched and signed in. Then they were led to one of the few "bright" rooms in the place, aside from the guards' temporary homes; the visitor's center. It was magically warded from the effects of the Dementors, and one could physically feel the pressure to succumb to their cold greyed out influence ease, even if the sense of constant chill without a fire remained. It was here that families and friends might visit the incarcerated in private booths, but very, very few actually did.

Narcissa Malfoy's body language had subtly shifted as they'd drawn closer to the prison, becoming somehow sterner, straighter and much, much colder in posture. Her aspect was different than when they'd visited the Ministry, somehow even more fearsome. The guards of Azkaban did not necessarily cower or cow-tow, but there was a definite respect with which they seemed to deal with Narcissa that Hermione did not observe with the few other travelers. That Hermione was with Narcissa led to a sort of fall out effect, where they also treated the younger woman with a careful distance.

"Go fetch Lucius," Narcissa ordered and the person she spoke to, a hardened guard, actually scurried away. Then she turned those cold blue eyes to Hermione. "You will wait out here, until I call you."

The younger woman bristled, but not at the tone of voice, though that had been like ice to the spine. It was the thought of letting Narcissa out of her sight in this place. Hermione's expression compressed in an effort to hold her own tongue and she stiffened, staring for a few brief moments at the older woman as if it would make some sort of change. Then, because it didn't and it would not, she turned abruptly, stomping less gracefully than usual to the available waiting room seating.

Amusement softened Narcissa's expression for the sparest of moments as she watched the back of her lover, before the cold mask fell over her eyes again. Hermione was aware of the whys. She had been informed of the necessity. She also knew that Narcissa had been to Azkaban far more often than she. It was actually, in its own way, an act of trust.

Narcissa moved toward one of the rooms attached to the waiting area and waited, head held high, ignoring the others as was her habit.

It didn't take long, as the appointment had been made in advance. The door swung open and she walked into a grey room marked with green-glow sigils designed to suppress magic, fit with table and chairs, and chains to lock around the ankles and wrists of the prisoner.

He looked roughed up in delivery, and his prison garb hung drably upon him, yet Lucius still sat like a king. He was more gaunt and his blue eyes more haunted than last time, but he still managed a smile for her. Because he was essentially trapped against chair and table, he did not stand in courtesy. She made up for it by kissing him on the cheek, as was her habit; a moment's happiness was something she could give, if nothing else. He leaned into the press of her lips and sighed when it ended.

Then she took her place on the other side of the table, facing him, letting the silence fall for a moment. His gaze took her in, assessing her with a familiarity that would have once brought a blush to her flesh. She might appear the ice queen, but she did not start out that way.

"Something has changed," he finally offered, and not just because of her early arrival. He knew the schedule of her visits, as it was layered upon his inner world like a beacon.

She nodded once, gracefully. "It has," she confirmed. Her expression remained firm, unflinching.

He sighed. "I expected something sooner. These walls hold secrets, but they tell everything awful so easily. Do I know him?"

"Him?" And, despite herself, a flash of hurt flickered behind her eyes. She refused to let it stay; refused to wield her own knowledge as a weapon, just yet. "Hardly. Though there are and were reasons to consider it. The Blacks teeter on the edge..."

"Potter." He spat out the name.

"Indeed. Something had to be done."

His exhale was sharp, like a gut punch. "And it had to be you?"

"Bellatrix can't. Andromeda won't. The wars previous cut my family down as much as anyone's. And I have found my house full of company more than willing. You may be sure the offers have been... provocative."

He had the grace to flinch, which made her feel oddly better. She was beginning to wonder if he really cared or if it was all posturing. "You'd never let them..."

"Let...," she didn't bother to laugh. He knew better.

"This is starting off badly. I did not mean to..."

"Yes. You did, because you don't really want to talk about consequences during our rare meetings. Nor hear what I have to say, during this particular one. So much easier to strike first... but none of that matters any more. I came here to offer you a chance, a choice."

He sneered. "A choice..."

"More than what you've given me..." He looked away from her. But she went forward. "You felt it, I know, as it was hardly avoidable. Even though you've let our link become a frail thing and took another's mark and oath in its place. I will not say what I think of allowing our son... Our son!... be taken in by that..."

"Careful, Cissy." He whispered sharply, warningly, "The walls..."

"... thief..." She exhaled a heated whisper in return.

"And, truly, you come to tell me how I let someone else..."

"Do not even begin. It does not compare. You wanted power..."

"And you didn't..."

"I wanted you," she snapped.

He graced her with a rare flush and looked at her again. "Ciss..."

She held up her hand. "The family has and will be growing again. You will no doubt hear of my new companion. She is, of course, more than a companion, but I wanted you to know who it was from me first..."

"Please...I..."

"Hermione ..."

"What!"

"Black."

"You let that mudblood touch..."

"Oh please. As if I don't have the names and bloodline of every single person you've dallied with..."

He blanched. "Impossible."

"Hardly. Do you think honestly I am a fool, that I wouldn't know what was going on in my own House. After all, if it increased, I needed to know of it and prepare accordingly. No child of yours would have ever wanted, if you had only trusted me."

He flinched, again and guilt painted his features. "I cannot change what was done..."

"Or lost. Do you even know where they are now?"

"No."

She grimaced. "We will come back to this, another time, as even the House Malfoy must be managed properly. As for Hermione, she is a remarkable witch and you might consider what it might mean that her name is Black..."

"Her name is Granger ..."

"It was Granger. Now it's Black, though she has chosen to keep her original name for her parent's sake in the middle; a choice I approve. And even that is not pertinent to this discussion as she is not your concern. I said you had a choice and I'll lay it out for you. You can choose me, our family. Or you can choose him. And while my name remains Malfoy, your status as head of my house, has been fundamentally altered. I simply give you the option to be part of, to remain part of... my heart, Lucius. While I can still leave it open and protect you..."

"Protect me! I'll have you know..."

"You, of all, should know better than to underestimate me. True, I have played the position you've wished me to play, but you would do well to remember who I am and what attracted you in the first place."

"Come now, Cissy, don't be ridiculous..."

"Have you enjoyed having a private cell Lucius? It can be arranged otherwise, if you'd rather."

He abruptly blanched. "You..."

"Do not think I haven't been watching out for your interests, just because it has not been wholly visible. After all, I've had to learn to work in the shadows because of your choices."

His exhale was sharp, cold. He closed his eyes against the stern vision before him. "Narcissa, I..." His shoulders slumped. "...apologize, but... I don't know what you want from me. My options are limited..."

"As I well know. However, that does not mean there are no options and it does not mean you can not choose. Once you chose me. Us. Our family. You simply have to do so once again."

"And you would have me include..."

"She's mine, Lucius. She made the choice. As did I. The Black bloodline will be saved and I will inevitably, if not already, bear a child. I simply am giving you the option to decide what roles will be available to you... Do you still want that family you claimed you desired so long ago? Do you even remember that it was you who yearned to hear children gracing the halls of the manor."

"But she's..."

"May I suggest you have your counselor do some preliminary exploration..."

"I already had her looked up..."

She exhaled. "Things change, Lucius. And if I thought it would help, I'd have her brought in. But I don't think I want to chance what might happen. She's a bit territorial right now."

"Territorial." He blinked.

"Our bond is... still fresh."

He changed color again, "Bond..."

Narcissa waited for him to regain his equilibrium, as she knew he was exactly aware of what she spoke. While he had not been present in a physical sense, there was no way he hadn't at least felt a reverberation along the thin magical ties remaining of their marriage. She was almost proud of the fact it did not take him long to regroup.

He leaned forward in his seat, expression intent. "You said manage the Malfoy line..."

Narcissa flicked a glance at the walls and then back at him. "Again, however, that is not the point..." Narcissa slowed and retraced that thought. "Or, perhaps it very much is... all of this..." She glanced away suddenly as if seeing something to his side, and then she returned her attention to him. "There is much that could be done, but if you trust me to handle it, then yes, I believe I could make both lines thrive. I have discovered many things since you've been … away."

"Trust." His tongue seemed to trip over the word, taste it like foreign element. Suddenly, his expression softened, turned slightly rueful, and his hand extended forward a tiny bit and he turned it, so his palm faced up.

She hesitated, and then laid her hand in his and the clasp was unexpectedly gentle.

"You know my steps are precarious and that my choices have become very skewed of late." He squeezed her hand then, "But you have been the one thing, the one person that I could have faith in." He swallowed. "I want to, but I can not promise..."

"Then make no promises, just..." Narcissa shifted forward, "...lean in a certain direction."

"I did try to protect our family, Cissy. I did." He grimaced. "And I can not regret my choices, as it would make me a fool."

"And you are no fool."

"I am too much of one. Or I would not be here. But Malfoys have our pride, even if we are caught in a spider's web ..."

"Lucius..."

"I gave an oath, Narcissa, one dipped in blood and deed. You and I both know that Azkaban is the least of my..."

"Our..."

"...our... worries." He sighed, eyes sharp. "I believed in him. I know this excuses nothing, and that it was my fault you were compelled..." He swallowed then and let go of her hand, straightening his posture again. "No need to review the past."

"No," Narcissa said, almost gently. "But it must be owned, before things may change."

He gazed at her silently, his expression almost forming a scowl, given the intensity of his thoughts. She did not try to read him. It wasn't necessary, even though she knew that whatever he said next might tip the balance.

Finally, he spoke and the words seemed to drag out of him as if pulled unwillingly. "I need to see her, Cissa. If I must … trust this new thing you bring to my attention ... I must have a vision of it."

-HP-

Narcissa easily recognized the stoic expression fixed upon her husband's face. It was the one he used when he was having difficulty processing what he was seeing; not quite slack, as that would lack grace, but a kind of faux-neutral that either led to tantrum or revelation. Either of which response could lead to upheaval.

The younger woman prowled into the visiting room, taking in everything, nostrils flaring as if catching a scent; though nothing hinted at what she thought of it.

Hermione came to stand behind Narcissa, who still sat, regally at the table. She could understand his response to Hermione. The last time he had seen the young woman, she had been in Bellatrix' deadly grasp, her screams piercing the air. That wild animal sound lingered in all of their psyches in one way or the other, but the strength of Hermione's gaze was piercing, dangerous. And, as she had warned, territorial.

A sneer flickered across his handsome face, but he caught himself at it, and straightened in his seat.

"Hermione," Narcissa began, extending her arm. The younger woman placed her hand over the top of her forearm. "May I present my husband, Lord Lucius Malfoy. Lucius, I present to you my Bonded Mate, Hermione Jean Granger Black. She may currently be addressed as Mistress Black."

Lucius eyes narrowed. "Mistress Black?"

"Her bloodline has proven true. But there are issues of state to be addressed in regards to her actual title." She smiled tightly. She did not mention that, when Hermione's new bloodline was proven, the Goblins had instantly begun looking into the validity of Sirius' will, which according to Dumbledore had left everything to his Godson. These walls had many ears, none of which are friendly. The problem was, however, that the will had not been validated by the Goblin solicitors or even by the Wizard solicitors. It had simply been stated by a man who had vested interest in it being true and it was assumed to be correct due to Harry being the boy-who-lived. Meanwhile, Sirius had had very little time to be Lord Black. He had not even managed to reclaim his seat in the Wizengamot before he'd been thrust through the veil.

"Are you telling me this, this," Lucius struggled for a moment to find a word that might pass without offending, at least for the moment, and to understand what Narcissa was telling him, "person is a possible heir to a pureblood station."

Narcissa managed not to roll her eyes. "You are missing the point, Lucius."

"No, I do not believe that I am." Lucius ears were turning red, though his outward expression retained its iciness. "You cannot possibly expect that you can pass this girl off as one of us."

Narcissa gritted her teeth and wondered what step she had missed in their previous discussion. Then she realized she hadn't. He was being deliberately obtuse. "Lucius, you do remember our discussion previous. You must trust me..."

"Trust," Lucius grimaced, "I trust that you believe that you have my, our, best interest at heart, but I cannot..."

"You mean will not," Narcissa stated icily. "I see now that you choose to be blinded by an irrational..."

"There is nothing irrational about wanting fidelity from my wife..."

"Fidelity! Shall we begin with Lady Zambini, Lucius?" He flinched. "Or shall we start with a much more, shall we say, mundane young woman. Does the name Flora remind you of anyone?" Narcissa's voice was a sharp, cold whisper of ice, which grew ever more frigid as she spoke, "We shall not bring up issues of consent next, as that would be detrimental to the length of your stay in this humble location."

"Narcissa!"

"Stop it! Both of you." Hermione spoke sharply, cutting through the thick, cold in the air. "It doesn't matter what should be or ought to be or any of that. It is what it is. You either accept it or you don't, Lord Malfoy, but it doesn't change a thing. She's mine and I am hers. It is an unchangeable. Technically, by all standards, we are as married, possibly more so, as you and she. What is left is to decide how your, this, family is composed. Personally, I don't care who is an heir of what. I don't care about nobility or blood or even revenge at this point. I cannot say I care about you at all, as you have always been arrogant and unkind to me. I, do, however care about her and that means her happiness is important to me. So tell me, Lord Malfoy, what is more important to you? The so called purity of my blood and it's nearness to you or her? If I thought it would make any difference, I would spill all of my blood, pure or tainted, for her. Would you?"

He gaped at the girl like a fish. He stood, as much as the chains would let him. "You don't know what I have sacrificed..."

"Oh, but I do," Hermione snapped. "Your honor and your pride. Not just sacrificed, Lucius Malfoy, but given away. And look what you have gotten in exchange for it. Perhaps you ought to think on that."

His lips compressed and his eyes flashed. Anger got the best of him. "You think this little girl can protect you. You want the Black line to thrive so much. Then take her and go. I renounce you."

Narcissa went rigid and cold shivered down her back. She tried for a reasonable tone, but it came out with more chill than she intended. "Lucius, stop. Think of what you are saying. I won't be able to protect you..."

"Oh, your vaunted protection. What? A bribe here and there? A lawyer's words. I have my own lawyers. I can protect myself." He hissed. "So, you want this creature, then have her. Let us finish this. I renounce you, Narcissa Black. I renounce our marriage. I divide you from me. Be thou cast away from me!"

Narcissa's teeth clenched and she stood. "You have made a grave error, Lucius. I believe you will realize it soon enough, but I do and have loved you, so I will honor your choice. I regret your choice, but accept it." Then she said with dire formality. "I leave thee with thy stone bed and thy cold heart, Lucius Malfoy. I cleave thee from my heart and my fortunes, good or ill. I leave thee to thy sentence, free of me and my influence. I leave thee thy name, but all else belongs to me and my kin, rank and right, as it is written in the contracts and codicils. I, Lady Malfoy née Black," she corrected him carefully, "do hereby free thee to thy fate, Lucius Malfoy, to do as you will, as much as a prisoner of Azkaban may accomplish." Then she said, less coldly, and very sadly "You forgot the contracts you signed previous to your capture and sentence. Insurance, you said, since you feared what the Ministry might do. I agreed because at the time... Well, it doesn't matter. It is done, by your word. The nobility, the lands, the property and the fortune falls to me, to shepherd for our heirs and my purposes. Now, by necessity, both the Malfoy and the Black line must flow through me."

Lucius' eyes widened suddenly and he made to leap over the table, but fell far short.

Her only reaction to his attempt to attack her, was to restrain her young mate as Hermione moved to intercept. Narcissa continued. "However, I will see to it a financial trust is set aside for your comfort. I cannot, in good conscience, leave you entirely destitute or too vulnerable to the whim of your master. It will be enough to cover your life and some sundry expenses, but no more. You were once a good husband." She stood and gently turned the twitching, dangerous young woman towards the door. "Come with me, Hermione. I'm afraid some of our plans for today need to be changed, but there is no reason not to have our lunch."

They left to the sound of Lucius shouting Narcissa's name, fury in his tone and aspect. They did not see him dragged away by his chains.

The Lady Malfoy moved quickly into the empty visitor's room, nearly into the middle of it before stopping. She didn't look at Hermione, though the young woman's arm was wrapped around her waist, for both comfort and support. The blonde's gaze remained outward, as she stood, breathing heavily for a moment.

"Is there anything I can do?" Hermione said plaintively, the worry very apparent. The stoicism that she showed the world had been peeled back at this sudden turn of events. She gazed up at the taller woman, not sure if she should expect an answer or if she should offer a hug or what she should do.

But then Narcissa's attention turned to her and her fingertips touched the bottom of the scars on the younger woman's face. "My Hermione, so brave and fierce. Do not come undone at this, my darling. This is, unexpected, but not unplanned. Lucius has always had a hot temper. I can hope that this was an act of self sacrifice on Lucius' part, but I fear it was simply anger. It is the dragon's blood in his veins and very possibly, soon to be mine. I do apologize."

"I don't understand."

Affection colored Narcissa's expression. "You will as soon as we are away from Azkaban, my lovely Beast. The keywords have been spoken. They will take effect as soon as we set foot off this island. My one regret is that this means we will be on a boat, but what must be must be. As you know, magical contracts can be quite," she expelled a breath, "life-altering." She patted Hermione's hand, her smile tight with grief and fear. "It's best we get this over with."

Hermione searched Narcissa's face and then nodded. Then, together, they exited the room.

"Keep those vile things on their leashes," Narcissa commented to the guard as they passed by. "I will not be held accountable if those creatures get loose."

"Of course, Lady Malfoy."

-HP-

Hermione had expected it much sooner, but instead they'd gotten on the boat and nothing had happened. Even when they cast off from the island, the only thing that had happened had been that Narcissa had tightened her grip on the railing and stared at the towers of Azkaban with a forlorn expression. Hermione had resisted pulling her into a clasp, but had settled for putting her hand at the older woman's back.

They had stayed that way, with Azkaban and its dementor filled clouds fading back and back as they crossed the choppy, unfriendly waters back toward safe haven.

The gloomy clouds followed them and then, abruptly, parted, bring blue sky and warm sun. The waters calmed.

Narcissa's feet lifted away from the boat, as a bolt of light spread over them both, but clothed her in its form. Her hair spread out, like rays of sunshine. Her head tilted back and she could not avoid opening her mouth. It was filled with light, with substance, even as another light, faded, but wound tightly inside her began unraveling.

Ribbons unfurled, the myriad hues of silver and sparkle, and her arms lifted above her head, palms up. She cried out, a cut to the heart and near sob, as the marriage bond severed, even as the blessing of the house Malfoy was bestowed fully upon her.

Hermione caught the woman as she fell. Her expression was as shocked as the boatmen's who witnessed the whole thing. Lifting her precious burden into deceptively strong arms, the young woman briefly glanced at the others and then, with a loud crack, they were both gone.

-HP-

**A/N - I usually try to avoid these sorts of interruptions in a story. I prefer to read straight through, usually and I intend to come back and erase this as soon as certain criteria are met. But I felt it only fair to say that this update is more of a Christmas gift than an update per usual. Usually I like to have at least two chapters in the bank before I post a next part. In this case I have maybe an eighth of one and so it may be a little while before there is another update. I just felt forewarned was forearmed, so to speak. **

**That said, I hope you all have a Merry Christmas or Holiday of your favor. :) **


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